


we've got one thing in common (it's this tongue of mine)

by foxfireflamequeen



Series: easy like sunday morning [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/pseuds/foxfireflamequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jack was Holster's first, and one time Holster was Jack's last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be twice a week, on Sundays, and Wednesdays or Thursdays. To start with, two chapters at once!

 

The thing is, Adam’s been a little in love with Jack Zimmermann for years.

He’s been in love with hockey for too long to not be aware of Jack Zimmermann. He was the talk of hockey TV and USHL locker rooms. They laughed about his early years as a pudgy kid and made fun of his ass when he grew into his mom’s cheekbones. Everyone was a little in love with either Zimmermann or Parson, and everyone was jealous enough to be mean about them both. Adam wasn’t exactly an exception, but he saw Zimmermann skate in person once when he was sixteen and fell in love then and there, watching the way Zimmermann’s eyes tracked the puck through his helmet, the way his skates didn’t even seem to touch the ice as he flew across it, toe to toe with Parson and looking for all the world like he was born there.

Buffy may have caused Adam’s sexual awakening, but he has absolutely jerked off to Jack Zimmermann’s hatties. Multiple times.

Zimmermann disappeared off the face of the earth for a couple years, and Adam forgot about him for a while, but now he’s going to Samwell and apparently _Jack Zimmermann is going to be his captain_.

Adam’s been prepping to meet Jack Zimmermann since he got the acceptance letter, so by the time they’re gathered for first skate he’s going a little stir crazy. He’s been taking deep breaths and willing himself to not blurt out anything embarrassing like _holy shit your ass is like, gigantic_ and turning a little green because he had a nightmare where he stepped onto the ice in front of Jack Zimmermann and slipped and crashed into him and made him lose a tooth.

Justin says he’s being lame. He is being lame. He’s going to look lame in front of Jack Zimmermann. That’s way uncool. Right, he’s got this. He’s totally ready to meet Jack Zimmermann.

 

* * *

 

Okay, so.

Jack’s difficult to talk to. He’s quiet and intense and never ever smiles, and Adam’s got better things to do than try to scale walls that high. He’s gone from being Birker all the time to Holster most of the time, and he has a brand new best friend and being in college is pretty cool even though he feels _old_ sometimes, sitting in class with all these fresh-faced eighteen year-olds with all their teeth. The seniors on the team are cool and the juniors are all still under twenty-one so Holster buys them beer and is instantly a party favorite.

Jack’s still a miracle on the ice, and he still has a giant ass, but before sunrise is way too early to appreciate any of that. Jack Zimmermann turns into Jack the Captain, and Jack the Captain is virtually nonexistent off the ice. Adam has no idea what he gets up to when he’s not calling plays during practice, and he doesn’t really care. There are a lot of pretty girls who show up to frat parties and at least half of them are attracted to him instead of to Ransom. Adam never used to have time for girls. He likes this new development.

Jack just sort of falls off his radar.

 

* * *

 

Adam’s the biggest guy on the team. He’s riding 6’4” and 220 lbs and he has ten pounds on Ransom, who’s the second-biggest guy on the team and who he shares a dorm room with.

So when Ransom opens their door to discover approximately ten hockey players waiting on the other side with rope and blindfolds, Adam does the only logical thing and charges all of them.

It doesn’t quite work out, because there are still ten of them and one of him, but Ransom screams like a little girl and headbutts Batsy in the chin, so it’s not all bad. Patsy and Batsy sit on Adam and Shitty ties his hands together and Johnson pulls a blindfold over his eyes. He catches a glimpse of the seniors wrestling Ransom down and feels a little miffed that he made for the easier catch.

“Frogs!” Shitty blasts in his ear with what has to be a fucking megaphone.

“Keep it down, Shits,” he hears Jack’s voice. “It’s quiet hours.”

“Dammit, Zimmermann,” says Shitty. “I’m trying to run Hazeapalooza here.”

“Yeah,” says Jack. “And you know who they’re gonna hold responsible if someone calls UP on us? Me.”

“Okay but can we get on with this?” Adam interjects. “Cause Patsy and Batsy are heavy as fuck and my back can’t hold ‘em for much longer.”

“Who’s hurting my bro!” Ransom shrieks from somewhere to his left. Adam loves him a lot.

Someone pulls him to his feet and guides him forward. Adam’s not wearing pants or a shirt, but Jack calls for a halt to the proceedings until they can figure out which pair of sneakers are his. They were about to take Ransom sans the towel he lost during their struggles, but Batsy reminds them of the time Shitty nearly got arrested for walking naked along the river. There’s a brief scuffle while they figure out how getting Ransom into his boxer briefs is going to work.

“Just put them on him,” Jack says, resigned. “His hands are tied.”

“I am not about to get bitchslapped by frog dick because you can’t hold him still,” Batsy hisses at probably Patsy.

It takes a while, but eventually they’re both relatively decent and wearing safe enough footwear to be poorly guided across campus. Adam feels the chill of Faber, and then he’s shoved back to his knees on the ice. Someone takes his shoes before the blindfold is removed, and he blinks at the flaming traffic cones distressingly close to his face.

“Has anyone ever lost an eye at one of these things?” Ransom asks dubiously. Adam doesn’t laugh because he’s legitimately concerned for his face. It’s too pretty to burn.

He doesn’t even notice Jack isn’t there to moderate the proceedings until he shows up after the frogs have howled and recited something that Adam’s almost positive is a ritual chant to raise the dead, but that’s mostly because it’s hard to notice anything with Shitty yelling in their ears and getting Natty Light after Natty Light shoved in their faces. Jack lowers the small struggling bundle he’s got slung over his shoulder to the ice, and gets kicked in the shin for his efforts.

“Ow!” he complains. “Quit it, Lards. You’re part of the team. Sorry it took us so long, guys; she’s stronger than she looks.”

“Fuck yeah she is!” Shitty hoots. “Bro, which one d’you wanna take?”

“Holster,” Jack says. “Lardo can kick you for the rest of the night. I’m going to be so bruised tomorrow, and the season hasn’t even started yet!”

Ransom gets taken out first. Batsy and Patsy were going to hang around to give Jack a hand in case Adam went rogue again, but Lardo turns out to be a much bigger problem than a seven beers deep Adam, so they leave to go help Shitty instead.

Adam manages to deal with the awkward silence for all of two minutes.

“Jack,” he says seriously, because it’s right in front of his face and he’s ignored it for long enough, and he’s buzzed enough to be brave. “Your ass is like, massive.”

Jack doesn’t quite smile, but he does turn around to face Adam, so it’s somewhat of a win. “Thanks,” he says.

Adam shakes his head. “No, bro, I mean it’s _massive_. You could for sure make a play out of that. I used to watch your tapes and get distracted by your ass, and not in the good way.”

Well, sometimes in the good way, but Jack doesn’t need to know that.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “This is starting to sound less like a compliment.”

“Who said it was a compliment?” Adam grins at him, and realizes that he might have accidentally flirted with Jack Zimmermann.

Jack’s face does the not-smile thing again, and Adam also realizes that this is officially the first actual conversation they’ve had, just the two of them. Adam’s an outgoing guy. It’s been a couple months and he’s met at least half the campus and become decent friends with most of the team, but him and Jack have never had a whole conversation. Adam’s positive he’s never seen Jack smile in person.

“You were in the USHL,” Jack says after a beat. Adam nods. His wrists are itchy. “You’re very good.”

Adam preens at the compliment, because Jack hands them out very sparingly. “Yeah, bro, but not NHL good, you know?” he shrugs. “It’s cool. Figured college was a better shot.”

Jack folds himself down on the ice in front of him. Adam’s taller but Jack sits straighter, so they end up eye to eye. “You and Ransom are NHL good together,” Jack tells him, startlingly sincere. Adam feels his cheeks heat up.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

There’s a lull. It’s kinda getting super chilly. Adam shivers and clenches his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. His hair was still wet when they kidnapped him from his room and the ice is really cold.

He doesn’t notice Jack moving until he feels the body-warm jacket drape over his shoulders. Jack settles back down and winks at him.

“Don’t tell Shitty,” he says.

Of course he’s a gentleman. Adam clutches the jacket as close as he can with bound hands.

“Hey,” he says, feeling impulsive. “Wanna get out of here?”

Jack looks at him waggling his eyebrows like an idiot, and his not-smile comes back. He checks his watch. “Sure, Holtzy,” he agrees. “It’s your turn anyway.”

He helps Adam up, and Adam isn’t sure if he imagines the way Jack’s hand lingers a moment too long on the small of his back. Jack’s eyes never pause on his body, though, so maybe he does.

Jack takes his jacket back before they reach the Haus. Adam remembers very little of the rest of Hazeapalooza, besides when Ransom planks in his arms and he totally fails to deadlift all 210 pounds of his best friend.

 

* * *

 

All the seniors are off on a road trip for their last fall break and most of the juniors and sophomores went home, so the Haus is practically empty. Their new team manager beats all of them at pong _and_ flip cup, so Shitty throws down his empty bottle and declares the first ever Haus game of spin the bottle.

“Bro,” says Ransom, and Shitty zeroes in on him.

“And none of that no homo bullshit in my Haus, got it?” he says, and both Ransom and Adam nod dutifully. Adam kinda wants to ask what happens if they are actually not homo. He’s self-aware enough to know that he’s at least partly homo, but he’s fairly sure _everyone_ in the room isn’t. But maybe agreeing to play spin the bottle with only one girl in the room is homo in general, so it doesn’t count?

Adam’s had like, a lot of beers. Lardo is _really_ good at pong.

“Jack!” Shitty shouts, because he has some sort of sixth sense for when Jack is trying to sneak up to his room. Adam leans up from where he’s sitting on the floor and watches Jack sigh resignedly and step off the stairs. Ransom shoves an elbow into his gut and leans so close he falls into Adam’s lap. Ransom’s also had like, a lot of beers, and half of Shitty’s joint.

“Bet you five dollars Jack’s gonna play,” he whisper-shouts into Adam’s stomach. Lardo tries to kick him from where she’s hanging half off the couch and gets Adam in the side instead.

“Ow,” says Adam.

“Don’t give away the plan,” says Lardo.

“Jack, come here,” says Shitty.

“What do you want?” Jack asks, leaning over the couch to look at them spread out over the floor, empty solo cups scattered around them and half-listing onto each other. “I’m not playing pong against Lardo.”

“I like a man who knows when to quit,” Lardo grins up at him and raises her hand. She’s still the only person Adam’s ever seen Jack give a high five to.

“Nah, brah, come _here_ ,” Shitty makes grabby hands at Jack, and Jack heaves another sigh, before walking around the couch to let himself be pulled into Shitty’s entirely naked lap. They have the weirdest fucking relationship, and that’s counting the fact that Adam is 200% positive that right at this moment Ransom is wondering about jellyfish biology.

“I missed your pretty face,” says Shitty. Jack meets Lardo’s eyes and they share a commiserating shrug. Being Shitty’s best friends is probably hard.

“You saw me two hours ago,” Jack says, and struggles halfheartedly until Shitty lets him slide to sit on the floor next to him. He keeps an arm around Jack, though, because Jack for some reason is entirely unaffected by Shitty’s—everything.

“Jack,” Shitty says seriously. “Do you know how much can happen in two hours?”

“But do they have eyes,” Ransom says. “I feel like they have eyes but _where are they?_ ”

Jack squints at Ransom, looking concerned. “Is he high? What’s he talking about?”

Adam shrugs. “Jellyfish,” he says. “He’s fine.”

Shitty raises his eyebrows at them like he’s not the one getting cuddles from Jack touch-me-and-die Zimmermann, then goes back to wheedling Jack. “Bro, play spin the bottle with us.”

Jack looks around at them, Adam and Ransom and Lardo and Shitty and Patsy and Batsy all staring at him expectantly, and rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he says. “Couple rounds then I’m off to bed.”

There’s no way he would have stayed if any of the seniors were around. It doesn’t take a genius to see how much Jack doesn’t get along with them, despite the fact that he lives in the Haus. Adam and Ransom are already working towards getting dibs for next year; he can’t imagine what Jack had to do to get his room.

Lardo points at Jack. “We stop when everyone’s gone at least twice,” she says, then considers it. “Same person doesn’t count.”

“Rans,” Adam says. “Get up. We’re playing.”

“Fuck’s sakes, assholes, get with the program,” Patsy tells them, and spins the bottle. It lands on Ransom just as he’s managed to push himself up, and when Patsy scoots across the empty space to kiss him full on the mouth Ransom just blinks and—doesn’t do anything.

Patsy leans back to raise both eyebrows at him. “That was legit the worst kiss I’ve ever had, bro, and that’s counting the time my first girlfriend tried to eat my face.”

Ransom blinks at him some more. “You’re not a jellyfish,” he says, and Patsy looks so offended Adam and Lardo burst out laughing.

“That’s it,” says Patsy. “I’m out.” He wobbles to his feet and walks around the couch, stopping to dump his can in the trash by the stairs.

“Okay, okay, my turn,” says Adam, because Batsy’s fallen asleep.

The bottle lands on Shitty, so Adam pushes himself to his knees and lets Ransom fall over as he crawls over for a kiss. It’s a pretty good kiss, even though Shitty’s moustache is bristly and not as soft as he was expecting. Adam’s feeling adventurous so he slips in some tongue, and Shitty grins into his mouth and tugs him closer to deepen the kiss. Lardo wolf-whistles, and Adam maybe mishears Jack say, “Get it, Shits.”

They’re both panting a little when they break apart. Shitty pushes his hair back from where Adam’s hands messed it up and gives him a thumbs up. “Great technique, man,” he says sincerely, and Adam laughs.

Ransom gives him a long look when Adam crawls back to his side, and oh, he might have forgotten to mention his not-quite-straightness to his best friend. He gets maybe half a second to worry before Ransom pats his back.

“Almost there, bro,” he says sympathetically. “Almost there.”

Adam elbows him in the gut, because why wouldn’t he choose _now_ to bring up that time Adam told him about having a mancrush on Jack Zimmermann over Facebook before either of them even got to Samwell instead of babbling about jellyfish like a normal bro?

Ransom grins at him and reaches out to spin. Adam’s starting to suspect he’s not as high as he was previously led to believe.

Ransom’s bottle lands on Jack.

None of them probably actually expected Jack to participate, like when he only pops in to do a celebrity shot or three for Lardo during pong and passes on flip cup. So Ransom sings, “O Canada~” at him, but it’s Jack who crosses the space to slip a hand over the back of Ransom’s neck and bring their mouths together.

It doesn’t last very long, but both Jack and Ransom look a little dazed coming out of it. Jack even rubs his knuckles into Ransom’s hair as he backs up, and Ransom actually blushes. Adam takes a long pull from his bottle.

“Holtzy,” says Ransom. “Jack’s a real good kisser.”

“Thanks, Rans,” says Adam, because being crossfaded does wonders for Ransom’s discretion.

Shitty looks put out. “Why don’t you ever kiss me like that?” he asks Jack.

Jack shrugs and reaches out to give Lardo her fist bump. “You never ask nicely,” he says.

“Shits, spin it for me,” Lardo calls from where she’s sprawled on the couch, her foot hanging dangerously close to Adam’s head.

“That is patently untrue,” Shitty says indignantly, spinning the bottle. “I always ask nicely.”

The bottle stops on Adam. Lardo huffs and puffs like she’s climbing a mountain as she hooks her ankle around Adam’s neck to turn him towards her enough to peck his lips. Her foot presses into his throat and Adam coughs into her lips.

Lardo pulls away immediately. “Gross, bro,” she tells him, and Adam coughs some more.

“You were choking me!” he complains. Ransom sighs despairingly at him, like he’s disappointed in Adam’s entire existence.

“It’s Jack’s turn!” he says with way too much enthusiasm. Adam squints at him, and turns around just in time to catch Jack watching them, eyebrows drawn down like he’s trying to figure out a particularly complicated play. Adam’s seen that look on the ice and it never ends well for the other team.

He feels a bit like the other team right now.

“Yeah, Jack,” Lardo says, and she’s watching Jack too. Her eyes follow Jack’s to Ransom and Adam, but she doesn’t look like she gets it any more than Adam does. “Spin it already.”

The bottle lands on Adam.

Well, it definitely _almost_ lands on Adam, and by then Jack is already moving across the space between them. He crawls straight into Adam’s lap, curls his big hands around Adam’s ears, and presses their lips together.

Adam flails for a second, then finds Jack’s hips to hold onto. Jack sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles, then goes back for seconds with his top lip. His stubble scrapes against Adam’s chin and Adam sighs into his mouth.

Jack pulls away enough to blink at him, and that look is back in his eyes, considering. Adam suddenly wishes he wasn’t wearing contacts because he sees exactly when it clicks for Jack, and then he’s ducking down again to, oh, okay, practically devour Adam’s mouth.

“Whoa, boys, slow down,” Shitty says, and Adam faintly registers Ransom’s laugh.

“Um,” says Adam, when Jack finally lets him go. Jack gives him one final considering look before the corner of his lips lift in a small smile, and he pushes his hands through Adam’s hair before standing up.

“Yeah, I’m going to bed,” Jack tells the room at large. Shitty’s eyes have fallen closed and he looks half-asleep, but Lardo’s still watching them. She nods as Jack walks around the couch before transferring that unnerving gaze to Adam.

“Told you he’s good,” Ransom says after a beat. Adam’s drains the rest of his beer.

“Shits,” Lardo says, and Adam startles because he almost thought she was going to call him out then and there. She swings her legs off the couch to kick him. “You’re drooling. Go to bed.”

“Ugh,” Shitty groans, so Adam slings his arm over his neck. “I’ll take him up,” he says, apropos of nothing, and hoists him up the stairs, listening to Lardo direct Ransom into cleaning up the mess and finding a blanket for Batsy.

Shitty flops onto his bed and immediately starts snoring. Adam debates tugging the comforter out from under him to cover him up, but he’s still feeling tipsy and charged and he sort of wants to jerk off ASAP, so he doesn’t.

Jack’s door is open. Adam almost walks past it.

“Hey,” he says. Jack is sitting on his bed, laptop open in front of him. He looks at Adam and doesn’t reply, which, really, Adam doesn’t know why he expected anything else. Jack isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he says, feeling stupid. He’s had a lot to drink, and combined with Ransom’s needling he probably misread whatever was happening downstairs.

Jack watches him for a long moment. Adam’s about ready to nod resolutely, walk away, and pretend this never happened, when he says, “You’re drunk.”

Adam pauses. “Sorry?” he asks.

“You’re drunk,” Jack repeats. The light from the laptop throws his features into sharp definition. “How about you come find me when you’re not.”

Adam blinks at him. He almost asks, _seriously?_ because he’s not that drunk but he’s also not entirely sure he didn’t hallucinate the whole night. He’s doesn’t know that he’ll _want_ to come back to this tomorrow.

Jack smiles at him again, just a little thing, but it changes his whole face. Adam leans against the doorframe and thinks about it.

“Yeah, okay,” he says finally. “I’ll do that.”

“Goodnight, Holster,” Jack says, and puts in his earbuds. Adam doesn’t bother with a response.

“Shitty all set?” Lardo asks when he goes back downstairs. Ransom’s yawning on the couch.

“Yeah.” Adam leans down to slip an arm around Ransom and pull him up. “Let’s go.”

They let themselves out of the Haus and begin the disproportionately long walk back to the dorms. Ransom stays unusually quiet, even when Lardo makes an offhand comment about skipping classes on Monday. Adam tightens his arm to take a bit more of his weight and wonders if he knows Adam is thinking, _maybe_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened guys I just wanted to write JackHoltz porn and suddenly there were _chapters_.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Ransom is sitting at the foot of the bed when he wakes up, staring at him expectantly. Adam pulls a pillow over his head.

“Go _‘way_ , Justin,” he moans. “It’s too early.”

“It’s ten AM and we didn’t have morning skate,” Ransom pokes his butt. “Do you remember last night?”

Fuck. Adam burrows further into his pillow and thinks about lying. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ransom’s quiet for so long Adam starts drifting off again. “Sorry if I messed that up, man. I’m not a great drunk wingman.”

Yeah, they’re having this conversation. Adam props his pillow against the headboard and scoots up so he can lean on it. Ransom waits patiently for him to stop fiddling with his blankets.

“I don’t know that you messed it up,” Adam finally confesses to his knees. His brain’s still muzzy from sleep but his mouth isn’t full of cotton, so. Makes it easier to remember the taste of Jack’s tongue.

“Didn’t think you were gonna come back down last night,” Ransom says carefully.

“Me neither,” Adam mumbles. He’s not even sure he should be talking to Ransom about this. Whatever else Jack is, out isn’t one of those things. But it’s Ransom. “He uh, he said to get back to him when I wasn’t drunk.”

“Oh,” Ransom’s brows furrow. “You didn’t seem that drunk.”

“I wasn’t,” Adam says. “But I can see how that might be a dealbreaker for him.”

Ransom bites his lip. They’re both vaguely aware of Jack’s history, just like the rest of Samwell. Jack was in rehab, for what no one really knows, but he was stone cold sober at Hazeapalooza and Adam’s seen him nurse a single beer through an entire party, the few times he even showed up.

“So…” Ransom hedges. “Do you still want to? Now that you’re not drunk?”

Adam rubs a hand over his face. The easy answer is yes. Jack’s really fucking hot, with the abs and the ass and the permanent case of bedroom eyes, but he’s also closeted and their captain and a minor celebrity and Adam’s not sure it’s a good idea.

“I don’t want to like, date him or hold his hand or whatever,” he says. “I just wanna hook up, you know? Experiment, have some fun. No strings attached and all that. But I dunno if you can do that with Jack Zimmermann.”

“Fair. But yo,” Ransom grabs Adam’s glasses from beside his pillow to occupy his hands. “If it’s just an itch you want scratched, there’s plenty of hotties on campus, and plenty of guys who’d totally be into your everything. It’s Samwell.”

Adam stays quiet, and Ransom squints at him.

“Unless,” he says slowly. “You don’t want just any hot dude.”

Adam shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I’m into him. And now that I know he’s into me too, or could be into me, or whatever, I don’t know how to just _forget_ that.”

Ransom’s easy to talk to for a lot of reasons, but Adam’s favorite one might be that he takes everything Adam says seriously, even when he doesn’t make a lot of sense.

“Is this a celebrity crush thing?” he asks abruptly.

Or it could be that he doesn’t always say what Adam wants to hear.

“Because bro,” Ransom continues. “I get that, but it’s really not cool. Jack’s like, an actual person. He’s not something to cross off a to-do list.”

“I know, and it’s not—fuck,” Adam heaves a sigh. “I know what it sounds like, okay, and I won’t say I don’t have a list he’s on, because I’ve been into Jack Zimmermann since I was sixteen years old. But he’s not just _Jack Zimmermann_ anymore, y’know? He’s the lame dude who doesn’t come down for Haus parties and he lets Shitty cuddle him naked on the couch and he gave me his jacket when I was freezing in Faber during Hazeapalooza and he’s a complete bitch during preseason. I kinda know the guy now and I still want to suck his dick.”

“But you don’t want to date him,” Ransom clarifies.

“But I don’t want to date him,” Adam agrees.

Ransom leans back against the wall. “I feel like hookups aren’t supposed to be this complicated.”

Adam laughs. “Yeah, well, he’s our captain. I just don’t want to fuck up cause I let my dick do all the thinking, you know?”

“I feel you,” Ransom shrugs. “Hey, if you’re into it, and he’s into it, go for it. You’re both adults. It’s not like you’re gonna go off and brag about it.”

“Yeah, no man, I’m not that much of an asshole,” Adam says, and feels his shoulders relax. “I’m not gonna out the guy. Maybe his dick is just something I need to get out of my system.”

Ransom gives him a look that unnervingly mirrors Jack’s from the night before, even though the two of them couldn’t be more different if they tried. “Sure,” he says eventually. “Get him out of your system.”

 

* * *

 

Just because he’s made a decision doesn’t mean the stars are willing to align for it to happen anytime soon. They don’t go back to the Haus for the rest of break and Holster’s got his midterms right after, because fuck the social science department. Besides, even if he had time, it’s not like Jack does. This close to their first game he’s fully in what Shitty calls his hockey robot mode, and it’s a fairly accurate assessment. He’s a well-oiled machine on the ice, but he’s just up in his head _all the freaking time_. He’s an asshole. Adam can’t help but think he’d be more relaxed if he were getting laid.

Then midterms end and they win their first game, and Ransom’s doing the first kegster of the year because he scored the first point, and Jack actually comes down to slap him on the back and help Adam prop him up. It’s Jack’s first win as Captain, and he bumps shoulders with Lardo and lets Shitty hug him until he has to struggle to breathe and for the first time since Adam met him, he looks genuinely happy.

Adam sticks with Ransom for a long time. He’s a good wingman. He waits until Ransom’s set up with this girl he’s been eyeing from his biochem lab, then ducks into the kitchen to grab a fresh solo cup.

Jack’s predictably alone when Adam finds him, nursing his single beer of the night on the back porch. His eyes catch on Adam’s chest before dragging up to his face.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Adam replies. He gently tugs the beer bottle from Jack’s hand and replaces it with the cup. Jack eyes it curiously, then takes a small sip. His eyebrows shoot up.

“That’s all I’ve had to drink tonight,” Adam says, and puts the bottle down on the wooden floor. It’s still half full.

Jack doesn’t smile, but something in his eyes softens. He takes another sip from his cup of water. “Oluransi good?” he asks after a moment.

Adam laughs and leans a hip against the porch rail, close enough that Jack has to tilt his head up to look at him. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s hitting it off with this girl he’s been into for a while.”

There’s no way Jack could have missed that, so Adam is caught entirely off guard when he nods and says, “He played a good game today,” in his Captain voice.

Adam stares at him, thoroughly bewildered, for a full five seconds before Jack starts to laugh.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chokes out, and Adam can’t even be annoyed because it’s like this Jack is a completely different person, shoulders loose and eyes bright with mirth. “I had to. You were looking at me like I was a puck bunny you wanted to wheel.”

“Hey,” Adam protests, grinning wide because who would’ve guessed? Jack Zimmermann’s got a sense of humor. “If anything, I’m the puck bunny here.”

Jack looks up at him through his eyelashes, and Adam thinks, _he’s definitely done this before_.

“So this girl,” Jack says conversationally. “He’s been into her for a while, eh?”

“I mean,” Adam leans closer, like he’s sharing a secret. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but her butt is like, _massive_.”

That makes Jack laugh again, and Adam almost kisses him right there, on the back porch of the Haus with approximately fifty people right behind the door and a few others scattered around the yard. Jack must realize it too, because his eyes dart around them and he takes a decisive step away. The real world comes crashing back.

Adam raises his hands, trying to project sincerity with everything he has. “I wouldn’t, man. I’m not gonna tell either.”

Jack’s lost the relaxed set of his shoulders, and his face is wary. He assesses Adam for a long moment.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and drains the cup of water. He crumples it in his fist. “Okay,” he says again. “I’m heading upstairs.”

He doesn’t say, _you should join me_ , or _come with_. He just turns around, opens the door, and disappears into the mass of people inside.

Adam wasn’t nervous before, but he is now, and the half-full beer bottle looks pretty tempting sitting right there in front of him. He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, mutters, “Fuck,” to himself, and walks back into the Haus.

 

* * *

 

Jack’s door is closed.

Adam stands in front of it for a long time. He types out a text to Ransom, _jack’s door is closed do i knock y/n_ , then deletes it, because what even. Of course he should knock. But last time the door was open, and now it’s closed, and what does that _mean?_

He’s on the verge of a decision, either knocking or running away he’s still not sure which, when the door swings open and Jack’s on the other side, eyebrows raised. The room behind him is dark.

“Were you planning on staying out here all night?” he asks.

Adam shrugs, opting for honesty. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

Jack regards him for a moment. “Come in,” he says, but doesn’t move from the doorway. When Adam squeezes past him their chests brush together.

Jack closes the door with one hand and catches his shirt with the other, and then his mouth is on Adam’s, hot and heady with intent. Adam has never been in this position before, pinned against a door by someone who can hold him there. It sends a thrill down his spine. Jack’s hands are in his hair and his stubble is rough against his skin and Adam automatically slides his hands over Jack’s broad shoulders, down his back, derailing at the last second to cup his hips.

Something about that makes Jack slow down. His hands slide up under Adam’s shirt.

“Okay?” he asks, and Adam lifts his arms to let him push the shirt over his head. When Jack comes back this time his kisses are slower, deep and exploring. He licks at Adam’s teeth and sucks on his tongue. His hands stray back into Adam’s hair, stroking through the short strands at the back of his neck. Adam isn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t something so achingly gentle, like Jack realizes that he’s nervous. Like he wants to make this good.

It’s Adam who pulls him closer and Adam who eases his knee between Jack’s thighs. His lips feels swollen and bruised and Jack keeps kissing him and kissing him until Adam gasps into his mouth, blood thrumming and skin so sensitive Jack’s shirt against his chest chafes. He tugs at the fabric and Jack breaks away long enough to pull it off and this is better, this is strange and amazing because Jack’s skin is warm and his chest is flat and he’s muscle all over, everywhere Adam touches. Jack still hasn’t kissed anywhere but his lips and Adam is hard enough to _hurt_.

“Jack,” he groans into Jack’s mouth. “ _Please_ ,” he says, and Jack finally puts his hands on him, just stroking down his sides but it’s so good Adam’s eyes roll back.

“Shh,” Jack breathes, trailing his open mouth down Adam’s neck. He carefully separates their hips and Adam almost whines in frustration. “Want me to suck you off?”

_Yes_ , Adam wants to say. Jack is _good_ at this. He can say yes and watch Jack go down on him and shit, he’d look so _pretty_.

“I want to suck _you_ off,” he says instead.

“Oh,” says Jack. His thumbs stop rubbing circles just under the waistline of Adam’s jeans. “You—really?”

“Yeah?” Adam says. He’s still thinking with his lizard brain, so it takes him a second to catch up. “Wait, you thought, what, that I was some straight boy just looking to get his dick wet?”

Jack bites his lips. They’re as wet and red as Adam’s feel.

“Jack.” He feels like he should be offended, but he isn’t, not really. “If that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t have picked you. I mean, no offense, but there are easier guys on campus.”

Jack still doesn’t say anything. His face is closed off. Adam’s heart rate is slowing back down.

“Oh,” he says. “You thought I picked you because you’re—you.”

Jack lets him go and turns to walk to his bed. He has this way of making people crave his attention without doing anything at all, and Adam instantly misses Jack’s eyes on him.

“I’ve been at Samwell a year, Holster,” Jack says mildly, and sits. His mattress doesn’t squeak. “You’re not exactly the first person to proposition me.”

There’s history behind his words, but what clicks for Adam is that Jack thought he was just, shit, _using_ him, and he still brought him back to his room. He did his best to make sure Adam was enjoying himself and offered to go down on him without expecting much in return.

Adam walks forward until he’s standing between Jack’s knees, and Jack raises his head to look at him. His eyes are almost white in the fluorescent street light washing in through the window.

“Don’t repeat this,” Adam says. “But I’ve been into you since I was sixteen.”

That startles Jack into a laugh. “No,” he says, disbelieving.

“Ever since I saw you skate,” Adam smiles at him. He’s only just starting to realize that he might have to defend himself on this a lot more than once, but it’s cool. “I’m not straight. I’m bi, and I don’t know how you can be friends with Shitty and still subscribe to this much heteronormativity. And I want to suck your dick because you’re hot. Sorry to tell you this, bro, but I would’ve wanted to suck your dick even if your name was Andre Deveaux.”

Jack snorts, but he’s smiling. “Deveaux?” he chirps. “I’d judge you for that.”

“I know; Ransom would disown me,” Adam says, and bends down to kiss him. He eases Jack onto his back. Jack goes easily, which. Unexpected, but so, _so_ hot.

He squirms when Adam sucks on his neck. “Off,” he says, and tugs open Adam’s jeans.

“I thought we established I was doing the blowing,” Adam complains, but he kicks off his pants and underwear and goes back for Jack’s. Jack lifts up his hips and Adam gathers his briefs in one go, and it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before but it’s different here, in Jack’s room lit only in streetlight, Jack spread out over the sheets like a fucking dream. He’s smaller than Adam, but not by much. Adam wraps a hand around him and Jack’s hips twitch like he’s forcing them to stay still.

“So uh,” Adam starts. “I’ve never actually done this before.”

Jack lifts himself up on his elbows and blinks owlishly. His abs fold in over each other. Adam wants to lick them.

“This as in sex?” Jack asks. There isn’t a hint of judgment in his voice. When Lardo told him she couldn’t skate and wasn’t interested in skating Jack had looked so appalled Shitty stopped to take a picture. He’s so _weird_.

“This, as in blowjob,” Adam clarifies.

“Oh,” Jack says. “It’s pretty simple. Use your tongue, watch the teeth. Don’t worry, I won’t come in your mouth. That’s a bit much for a first time.”

Adam’s a little suspicious of how certain he seems of that, but he’ll buy it for now. He rubs his palm over the head of Jack’s dick, then starts stroking. The angle’s different, but the mechanics are basically the same. He ducks his head for an experimental taste and Jack’s head falls back, the line of his throat pale in the dim light.

It’s a favorable response, so Adam licks up the underside of Jack’s cock and tries to mimic what he likes. It tastes mostly like skin, a little salty and strange but not really bad. He opens his mouth wide and covers his teeth and goes for it.

_Fuck_ , he thinks. It’s nothing like going down on a girl. Jack’s dick is silky and heavy on his tongue and that feels—fuck.

He can’t take a lot at once. His gag reflex is pretty unimpressive. Jack’s quiet, which is not at all surprising, but he likes petting Adam’s hair, which is. He spurts precome onto Adam’s tongue; Adam breathes through his nose and swallows it down.

“Tighter,” is all Jack says when Adam adds his hand to the mix. He eventually finds a rhythm, sucking at the head and pumping his hand to meet his mouth. It’s easy to tell when he’s doing something right, because Jack doesn’t need to be loud for how responsive his body is, hips undulating and fingers shaking where they’re curled into Adam’s hair. Adam doesn’t even realize he’s rutting into the mattress until he feels Jack’s feet flat on the curve of his ass, pushing him down so his dick rubs into the soft sheets and it’s so good that Adam moans around his mouthful and that makes Jack groan and shit but Adam’s so turned on he can hardly breathe.

He’s not sure how long he’s been at it when Jack’s hips stutter and he gasps, “ _Holster_ ,” and Adam knows he’s not going to forget that anytime soon. _Holster_ sounds so pretty on Jack’s tongue when he’s about to come.

Jack pushes him off, then tugs at him insistently until Adam’s braced on his elbows above him and he brings Adam’s hand to his mouth, licks his palm, and guides it back between them to wrap around them both. Jack’s dick is already slippery with saliva and Adam ducks his head into Jack’s shoulder, pumps them together and swipes his thumb over the heads to pick up precome. Jack’s hands are everywhere now, running down his arms and squeezing his ass and he kisses Adam again and again until they’re panting into each other’s mouths and it’s so, so good.

Jack comes first. Adam doesn’t let him go and Jack _keens_ in his arms, fingers clawing at his back and that sound more than anything tips Adam over the edge. He comes with a shout muffled into Jack’s skin and barely manages to stop himself from collapsing his full weight onto Jack.

They lay there in silence, Adam’s hand sticky with come. At some point Jack rolls towards his desk and pulls out a pack of wet wipes from a drawer. He hands one to Adam and wipes himself down with another. This is when Adam would usually make a quip or three to make a girl laugh and then grab his jeans to go, but the silence feels too comfortable to break. Adam cleans off and Jack tosses their used wipes into the trashcan at the foot of the bed.

Jack sits up, folds and crosses his legs. His dick is soft against his thigh.

“I feel like I should give you a performance evaluation,” he says after a moment. “But I also feel like the results should speak for themselves.”

“Well,” Adam says, grinning up at him. He stretches and delights in the way Jack’s eyes track down his body. “I have to say you did pretty great. Responsive and encouraging, good qualities in a teacher. But maybe a little more verbal guidance next time?”

Jack’s eyes snap up to meet his. Shit. This was supposed to be a one-time deal. Adam’s already opening his mouth to backtrack when Jack interrupts.

“Or maybe I could provide an actual demonstration next time, eh?”

Oh. Oh god. Jack is offering a next time, and he’s offering to blow _him_ next time. Adam’s brain isn’t functional enough to deal with this yet. He nods dumbly.

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “That would. That would be good too.”

Jack’s not-smiling again. It’s his chirping not-smile, the one he gets when he’s pleased he managed to make Shitty laugh, even though that’s not even hard. Adam looks away and climbs off the bed. Jack watches him pull on his jeans and look around for his shirt.

He finds the shirt. He puts on the shirt. Then he does something he knows he shouldn’t, and walks over to press another kiss to Jack’s lips.

“Goodnight,” Jack says, when he pulls away.

“Night,” Adam replies, and doesn’t look back at Jack sitting naked on his bed, watching him go.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

When Adam wakes up the next morning Ransom isn’t back. He brushes his teeth and goes for a run and comes back to their room, and Ransom’s still a no-show.

He showers and uses the time to rehearse the conversation where he refuses to share deets with his best bro. It’s not something he’s ever done before, but this is different. Jack doesn’t even know that Ransom knows.

Thinking about Jack gets him thinking about Jack’s dick in his mouth. He was almost done, but he takes a few more minutes to jerk off quickly. It’s early enough on a weekend that no one should be waiting for the shower.

Except Ransom, of course. He raises an eyebrow when Adam steps into the room, and Adam feels his cheeks heat up.

“You were in there a while,” Ransom says, grinning. “Did you strike out last night?

Adam rummages in his drawers for a fresh pair of briefs. “No,” he says.

Ransom’s grin gets wider. “That good, huh?” Adam’s still debating if answering that would be giving too much away when Ransom claps him on the shoulder. “Glad you had fun, man,” he says, and leaves with his towel.

Adam feels off-kilter. Ransom didn’t ask for deets. He didn’t ask Ransom for deets. Ransom stayed the night. Adam did not.

He pulls on his clothes and doesn’t think about it.

 

* * *

 

“Morning,” Jack says, nudging his tray against Shitty’s to make room on the table. He’s the only other morning person on the team, and it’s the only time of day when he can legitimately annoy Shitty, who’s a complete zombie before nine.

“Isn’t it?” Adam chirps, because Shitty doesn’t even look like he heard Jack and Johnson’s falling asleep in his cereal. “I slept _great_ last night.”

Ransom is nose-deep in his bio readings for Monday, but he still manages to kick Adam under the table. Jack looks deeply amused.

“Funny, so did I,” he says, and Adam doesn’t even get a chance to blush before Shitty shoves Jack hard enough his chair topples over.

“Fuck off, Zimmermann,” is all Shitty says. There’s yogurt in his moustache.

Adam meets Ransom’s eyes and shrugs. It doesn’t feel any different, is the thing. They finish breakfast and go to late practice and him and Ransom are good enough on the ice that Jack claps them on the back and tells them to keep it up, which is high praise coming from him. Adam doesn’t even think to look at his dick in the locker room, even though he jerked off to the memory of it not three hours ago.

He follows Ransom to the library because he hasn’t even started on his assignments for the week yet. Adam’s trying to figure out the excel pivot tables when Ransom starts to crawl under the table.

“Bro,” he says. “Your next test isn’t till Friday.”

“Marika had a boyfriend,” Ransom says. “She slept with me to make him jealous.”

“Oh, shit,” Adam says, and joins him under the table. Ransom looks at him with big sad eyes, and Adam is suddenly, shockingly furious at this girl he’s never said more than two words to. “That’s so shitty, man. I’m sorry.”

Ransom pulls his knees to his chest. “Yeah, well,” he says. “I feel bad more because she had a boyfriend than because she was like, using me, you know?”

Adam falters, because this isn’t test anxiety. It’s not something he knows will go away after the test is over and it’s not something he has experience with helping make better. Ransom is sad and Adam doesn’t know what to do. Adam always knows what to do to make Ransom feel better.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. It sounds weak to his own ears. “You didn’t know.”

Ransom shrugs. He doesn’t say anything. Adam wants to give him a hug, so he does. Ransom melts into his arms instantly.

“Christ, get a room,” someone hollers at them. Adam raises his head from Ransom’s shoulder and scowls, because of course. Fucking LAX bros.

“Suck my dick,” he yells at them. Ransom giggles into his chest, and Adam feels a little better. “Fucking LAX bros,” he mutters, propping his chin back on Ransom’s shoulder.

“You didn’t come back last night,” he says after a while.

Ransom shifts around until he’s more comfortably wedged under Adam’s chin. “I knew you were having a good night. I didn’t wanna be a downer.”

Adam smacks him on the head, and doesn’t bother being gentle about it.

“The fuck,” says Ransom.

“Exactly,” says Adam. “The fuck, Justin? It’s not like I brought him back to our room. Since when do I put other shit before you?”

He can’t see it, but he feels Ransom rolling his eyes. “My problems are your problems, got it.”

Adam rolls his eyes back. “Was the sex good at least?”

“Eh,” Ransom says. “I give better head than she does. You?”

Adam knows a change in topic when he hears one, but he doesn’t press. He’s forgotten what he rehearsed in the shower, so he goes with, “It was good.”

Ransom pulls away to look him over skeptically. “Just good?”

“Uh,” says Adam. “Very good? He was. Nice.”

Ransom’s skeptical eyebrow meets his hairline. “Nice,” he repeats.

“I don’t know,” Adam says. “He made sure I was comfortable. I had a lot of fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun, then,” Ransom says. “Was it very different?”

“Yeah,” Adam replies. He thinks of the hair on Jack’s chest and the scrape of stubble against his cheek, and the shape of his dick in his hand. He feels his cheeks heat up again. “But good different.”

“So you’re definitely gonna try it again?”

 _Next time_ , Adam had said, and Jack agreed. He’s not expecting the next time to be today, but. “Yeah, I am.”

Ransom stares at him for so long Adam starts to get uncomfortable. He can’t tell what Ransom’s thinking when he’s focused on _him_ , and that’s just—unusual.

“Oh my god,” he finally breathes. “You don’t mean ‘again’ as in another guy, you mean again as in—” Adam slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Dude,” he gives him a disapproving look, and Ransom has the decency to look abashed. Adam moves his hand and Ransom clutches at it.

“I thought you were just hooking up!” he whispers loudly.

“We are!” Adam hisses back at him. “Just, we might again!”

“Bro,” Ransom says, delighted, and raises his hand. “I feel like I’m missing out.”

Adam bumps his fist. “You kinda are,” he says. “Are we done gossiping? I need to finish my homework and you have three more units to run through before tomorrow.”

“Holtzy,” Ransom says when they’re sitting on their chairs again, Adam adjusting his equations. “I’m really glad you had fun.”

Adam looks over at him. They share almost everything with each other, but Adam never mentioned why he was nervous. That it wasn’t just about it being Jack. Ransom had known anyway.

“Did you give her head?” he asks.

“What?” Ransom says.

“Marika,” Adam repeats. “Did you give her head?”

Ransom blinks, confused. “No?”

“Good,” Adam says, and reaches out to squeeze his hand. “She doesn’t deserve head from you.”

Ransom laughs so hard the guy sitting at the table over throws up his hands, gathers his books and leaves. Adam goes back to his spreadsheet, feeling the world tilt back into place.

 

* * *

 

Jack scores with an assist from Adam with thirty seconds left on the clock and they crash into each other at center ice as the buzzer sounds. Jack’s arms are still around Adam when Ransom leaps on them both with Johnson in tow, and even Leggs and Hoser join in. Somewhere in the middle of all that crazy, Jack’s eyes meet Adam’s.

When they get to the motel, Lardo hands out keys. Adam walks into his and Ransom’s room and barely has time to dump his shit before there’s a knock on the door.

“I need to talk to Holster for a bit, Rans, could you wait at mine?” Jack tosses Ransom his key. Ransom looks from Jack to Adam, wide-eyed, then sighs and points.

“You guys owe me,” he says, and thankfully has the forethought to close the door for them, because Jack doesn’t even look back at him as he leaves. He reaches Adam in two strides as soon as the door clicks shut and they’re crashing again like they did on the ice, lips sliding hot and messy against each other. They separate long enough to pull off their shirts and then they’re kissing again, hard enough that their teeth clack together.

“Fuck, you have any idea how hard it was to not just slam you into the lockers?” Adam grunts as Jack’s mouth sucks hard on his shoulder. His body thrums with adrenaline; he feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin. “You come out of the shower and drop your towel like no one’s fucking looking—”

“You weren’t looking,” Jack says, muffled into his skin. His hands are already at Adam’s belt. “You think I wouldn’t have known if you were looking?”

“Christ, Jack, but I _wanted_ to,” Adam says, and Jack shoves him onto the bed. His back hits the lumpy mattress and he pushes up on his elbows, trying to orient himself and reach for Jack at the same time, but Jack has other plans.

He drags Adam’s jeans to his thighs and drops to his knees, on the disgusting carpet of the motel that’s gonna leave some sick rug burns, but Adam doesn’t really have time to think about that because Jack wastes no time sucking him down to the hilt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Adam’s hips rocket off the mattress. Jack chokes. “Shit, sorry, man, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack coughs, then dives right back in. He deepthroats Adam like a fucking pro, hands sliding under Adam’s ass to pull him half off the bed and _lift_ his hips to his mouth. Adam can’t stop the whine clawing out of his throat because holy mother of god Jack is _strong_ , he’s never been with anyone who could move him around like a fucking _puppet_ before and he was right, he was _right_ , Jack looks so fucking _pretty_ there, on his knees with his lips stretched around Adam’s cock.

“Jack,” he babbles helplessly. “Jack, fuck, shit, you look fucking _amazing_.”

Jack pauses, nose buried in the curls at the base of Adam’s dick, and looks up at him. His eyes are blown so wide they’re almost black. Adam hears his throat click. When he touches Jack’s face he can feel the shape of his dick through his cheek.

It feels like they’re suspended in this moment, and Adam’s not prone to hyperbole but he could probably die happy right now.

Then Jack hums around him and swallows, and Adam’s elbows buckle. His back hits the mattress with a thump and he screws his eyes shut, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other between his teeth to stop himself from screaming. Jack is _brutal_ , all tight suction and relentless rhythm. One of his hands cup Adam’s balls and slide behind them. Adam’s back is still arched off the bed when Jack slips a finger down the crack of his ass to press dry against his hole and that’s it, Adam’s coming down Jack’s throat with a barely-muffled shout.

Jack swallows. He doesn’t get it all at once; some of it dribbles past his lips as he pulls off with an obscene _pop_ and climbs onto the bed. Adam’s limbs feel like jelly, but he reaches out to wipe Jack’s chin with his thumb. Jack licks the come off Adam’s finger and sucks it into his mouth.

“Stop,” Adam slurs. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Jack lets him tug the finger free and trail it through the hair on his chest. He already looks more settled in his skin somehow, even though he’s only just unzipping his own pants to pull out his dick. Adam wants to help, but he’s not sure he _can_. He feels so _heavy_ , sated and happy and sleepy. He doesn’t remember the last time he came that hard or fast.

Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He meets Adam’s eyes as he jerks off. Adam rubs his wet thumb over Jack’s nipple and he gasps, soft and quiet and nothing like the ruckus Adam made. The sound rings in Adam’s ears.

“Kiss me,” he says.

Jack tastes like Adam, tangy and wet. There’s no fucking way Adam can go again, but his dick makes a valiant effort to twitch in interest. He sucks on Jack’s bottom lip and feels him come against his stomach, completely silent.

For a while the only sound in the room is of Jack’s heavy breathing. Adam is content to lie there and pet Jack’s hair for as long as he wants to stay, but Jack sits up all too soon. He buttons and zips his jeans and walks to the bathroom, comes out with a fresh roll of toilet paper. Adam just lays there, feet still on the floor and ass hanging half off the bed, and lets Jack clean him up.

When he’s done Adam finally drags himself fully onto the mattress. He pulls his briefs up his hips and kicks off the jeans. Jack sits back down next to him. He’s not meeting Adam’s eyes anymore. It’s awkward in a way they’ve managed to avoid until now, so Adam figures he might as well say something.

“That was fucking incredible,” he says, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. That came out a little too starstruck.

Jack, of all things, looks _embarrassed_. “I uh, don’t know where that came from,” he says. His voice is so hoarse it sends shivers down Adam’s spine. “I haven’t done that in. A long time.”

He’s fidgeting, picking at his cuticles. Adam catches his hands to make him stop.

“I’m really glad you did,” he says sincerely. “I liked all of it.”

Jack still won’t look at him. “It was stupid,” he says. “We didn’t even lock the door. Anyone could have walked in. And Ransom was here.”

Adam squints at the door and winces. It is unlocked. That was actually super dumb of them. As for the other part.

“Ransom may have already known,” he says. Jack looks up sharply, fingers tightening around Adam’s. “He, um, figured it out? So we talked about it a bit.”

Jack presses his lips together. “I guess I didn’t really expect him to not know,” he says slowly. “He can read you like a book.”

“He’s not going to tell anyone either,” Adam hastens to reassure him. Jack glances down to where their fingers are still tangled together and gives Adam’s hand a squeeze.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and Adam hears in it an equally quiet outpour of _trust_ that makes him want to curl up and hide because he can’t even imagine the amount of faith Jack’s putting in him. There isn’t a single out player in the NHL.

“We can get better at it,” he hears himself say. Jack looks at him questioningly, and Adam shrugs. “Be more careful, I mean.”

The line between Jack’s eyebrows eases. He squeezes Adam’s hand one last time and lets go. “I should give Ransom his room back.”

He picks up his shirt from the floor and walks out. Adam shamelessly watches him go, then gets under the sheets, curling his fingers around his pillow.

Ransom comes back not five minutes later, and trips over Adam’s shirt in the doorway.

“Come on, bro, pick up after yourself,” he complains.

“I can’t move,” Adam tells him honestly, grinning wide. Ransom whistles.

“Damn, son,” he says, and plops down on his bed to take off his shoes. “So that was spectacularly unsubtle. I think Shitty knows too, but it’s hard to tell with him. He’s worse than Johnson sometimes, I swear.”

“Yeah, we gotta get better at the whole secret thing,” Adam agrees. His eyelids are already drooping, so he starts taking out his contacts. Ransom wanders to his bag to dig out his toothbrush and toothpaste.

“So this is a thing now?” he asks.

“This is a thing,” Adam says.

Ransom throws his shirt in his face. “Figure out a better system. I’m not getting sexiled after every game.”

 

* * *

 

They figure out a better system. Adam isn’t sure how Jack manages it, but Lardo starts booking him his own room on roadies. They get each other off quick and dirty after a game and take their time in Jack’s room at the Haus. Adam discovers the miracle that is Jack Zimmermann’s ass and realizes pretty quickly that Jack loves Adam’s hands on his butt, just like Jack figures out that Adam likes it when he pulls his hair. Adam also likes sucking dick a disproportionate amount, probably because if he drags it on long enough he can turn Jack into the kind of mess that starts speaking rapid-fire French. It’s the hottest thing Adam’s ever heard. Every little sound he can draw out of Jack during sex feels like a personal accomplishment.

They still don’t hang out just the two of them, but they start talking more and more when they’re done with the sex part. Adam still spends most of his free time with Ransom, even though he’s going into some weird study-hibernation mode with finals only weeks away, but he thinks he’s also friends with Jack now.

Being friends with Jack means being friends with Shitty and Lardo too, somehow, and at some point Ransom and Jack bond over being Canadian and Adam and Shitty really hit it off and suddenly all five of them are friends. They get coffee together and have late night study sessions at the library and the boys let Lardo paint their faces for what she says is her final project.

They’re friends, and they have sex, but Jack never comes to Adam’s room, and Adam never stays the night. They have a system. It works.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few of you are concerned about this, so i'll clear it up right now. this fic takes place pre-canon and is completely canon-divergent, i.e. canon events do not take place even though it sort of follows the canon timeline. the fic will end pre-canon, and most importantly, wherever and however this fic ends, holster is not a stepping stone for jack and bitty's relationship or a plot device for zimbits. holster and jack's relationship in this fic, whatever it is, is entirely separate from bitty and will remain that way.

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says, pulling off of Jack’s dick. “Am I _boring_ you?”

Jack pets his hair absentmindedly, “Of course not.” His eyes are fixed on the laptop at the foot of the bed, which is running a Pens vs Habs tape from a year ago. Adam is vaguely offended.

“If you didn’t want a blowjob, you could have said.”

Jack finally looks away from the screen to smile at him. “Holster, we both know the blowjob isn’t really for my benefit.”

This is true. Sometimes Jack doesn’t want reciprocation, and sometimes he lets Adam go to town on his dick just because Adam likes it. Adam’s pretty sure he would’ve gotten more attention from Jack if he’d decided to jerk off in front of him instead. Jack doesn’t always like everything, but he always likes to watch.

He ducks down again to suckle at the head of Jack’s dick, enjoying the weight of it against his tongue. Jack groans softly, but his eyes are back on the laptop screen, which. Come _on._

“It’s not even like you’re watching Game of Thrones!” Adam complains, pulling off again. “You’ve seen that tape _so many times_.”

He knows, because he was there. The whole team has watched this tape a billion times because it’s Jack’s favorite tape to show at practice.

“What’s Game of Thrones?” Jack asks. Adam blinks at him.

“You know, hit TV series with dragons and really hot actresses and a couple hot actors? Lots of blood, everything’s very dramatic. You’ll probably like it. I mean, it’s no Golden Girls, but,” he stops. “You don’t know what Golden Girls is, do you.”

“Uh,” says Jack. “No?”

Adam reaches behind him to drag Jack’s laptop close. “Hey!” Jack says when he closes out the tab replaying Crosby’s frankly incredible assist, but Adam pays him no mind and pulls up freetv.

“We’re gonna watch little old ladies demolish people with their words,” he says, flopping down beside Jack as the opening theme begins to play. Jack looks down at his erection, forlorn.

“So…” he starts.

“Nope,” says Adam. “You don’t appreciate my blowjobs, you don’t finish.”

Jack sighs and grabs a pillow to put over his lap. Adam settles on another pillow and tucks a third behind Jack when he scoots close to lean against the headboard. Jack has a lot of pillows. Adam’s fairly sure his mom picked out all of them.

“They’re mean little old ladies,” Jack says after a while, chin propped on his fist.

“All little old ladies are mean,” Adam assures him.

Jack stifles a laugh, but that’s the last laugh he stifles. He laughs when Adam mouths along with the lines and laughs when Rose asks an oblivious question and Dorothy gives her the Look. He laughs during the second episode, and the third. Adam’s never heard him laugh so much before. Jack once watched an entire episode of Community with him and Ransom and Shitty and didn’t even smile. Apparently the missing factor was old ladies being inappropriate.

“What?” Jack asks when he catches Adam watching him out of the corner of his eyes.

“No, just,” Adam shakes his head. “Why don’t you do these things? Watch TV or movies or listen to music or whatever? I know you can use an iPod and a radio and clearly you know how to livestream.” Even though he accidentally texts in the group chat instead of to Shitty or Lardo at least twice a week.

Jack slides down the bed so he can tilt his head onto Adam’s shoulder the same way he does with Shitty whenever they sit together on the bus. For a wall of muscle he’s surprisingly comfortable, and he’s always warm. Ransom’s like a personal space heater too; Adam thinks it’s a Canadian thing. He wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulders and lets him get comfortable.

“I liked watching cartoons when I was a kid,” Jack says. “But everything except Cartoon Network was full of my parents and sometimes even me. My mom was still working then, so she’d always be in at least one ad during commercial breaks, and magazines were full of pap shots of her taking me to the park and comments about how she was wearing sweatpants instead of, I don’t know, Alexander McQueen, and the radio was either talking about Bad Bob’s latest hattie or Bad Bob’s unexpectedly fat kid. It was easier to just, you know, stay away from all that. Read books and watch games with the sound muted. Now it’s just habit.”

It’s the most Adam has ever heard Jack say at once. There’s a lot packed into that little exposé, but what matters is that Jack is telling him he doesn’t know who Betty White is because people are shitty, and people were shitty to him and his family when he was just a kid, and Adam feels a little shitty himself because he contributed to that. The only thing he knew about Jack until now that he didn’t hear from some gossip rag was sex-related.

He leans his head against the wall behind them and watches Dorothy check Sophia for signs of life. “I loved the Nick toons,” he says. “Real Monsters and CatDog and all that. My mom and I would watch Saturday morning cartoons together. Never missed it even when she had the graveyard shift at work Friday night. Johnny Bravo was my favorite.”

Jack snorts, “You would like that. Remind you of you, does he?”

Adam shoves him hard enough he nearly falls off the bed. “Shut up. I actually have game.”

Jack shoves him back. “I’ve seen you flirt with girls, Holster. Hate to break it to you, but hockey-talk and flexing isn’t exactly the definition of game.”

“I’ve seen _you_ flirt with girls, Zimmermann,” Adam shoves him again. “You do the same fucking thing, and I was _trying_ to ask you what your favorite 90s cartoon was.”

“Oh.” Jack thinks about it. “I liked Batman.”

“Of course you did,” Adam mutters. “There are like, a ton of new Batman movies. Some of them are even good.”

Jack tilts his face up to him. “We should watch them.”

Jack’s undivided attention is a heady thing. Adam doesn’t realize he’s moved closer until he can taste Jack’s breath on his lips, and from there it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean in and kiss him.

It’s dry and chaste and feels like a first kiss even though it’s anything but. Jack kisses him back, so soft and sweet it makes Adam’s stomach flutter.

Neither of them hears the door open.

“Hey, brah, have you seen my—oh,” Shitty says, standing in the doorway to his and Jack’s shared bathroom. His eyes are round as saucers. Adam scrambles away from Jack so fast he lands on the floor.

Shitty holds up his hands. “Sorry!” he squawks. He’s staring at Jack so Adam looks to him too, for guidance or _something_ because Adam’s only in his boxers and Jack’s completely, totally naked and whatever Shitty saw, they didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination.

Jack is frozen on the bed where Adam left him, ankles crossed over each other and knuckles white where they’re holding the pillow in his lap.

“Shit, bro, I’m sorry, I need to learn to fucking knock or something, but hey, have fun, and deets later!” Shitty points a thumb over his shoulder and is gone before either of them can say anything. Adam doesn’t even know what would have come out of his mouth if he’d tried.

The door closes with a slam. Adam carefully stands up. Jack is still staring at the space where Shitty was, cheeks drained of color.

“Jack?” Adam says. His voice comes out very small. He’s not sure Jack is breathing.

“Holster,” Jack says, and it’s his Captain voice, level and firm even though his eyes are glazing over. “Could you get Shitty for me, please?”

Adam nods, and pulls on his jeans and shirt quickly before walking through the bathroom to get to the other side where Shitty’s doing a poor job of cleaning up the notes scattered all over his floor.

“Fuck, Jack, I’m really fucking sorry. I know you didn’t want me to see—” he stops, forehead creasing in confusion when he sees Adam. “You’re not Jack.”

“Jack wants you,” Adam says by way of explanation. “He uh, he doesn’t look so good.”

Shitty’s eyes sharpen immediately and he pushes past Adam, disappearing into Jack’s room. Adam stands in the middle of the notes he left strewn behind and chews on his lip.

 _i thought u said shitty knew_ , he texts Ransom. He doesn’t get an immediate reply, because Ransom has been busy a lot lately.

After a while he sits down in Shitty’s desk chair. He thinks about leaving. But Jack really didn’t look well at all when Adam left him and he doesn’t want to leave without at least knowing if he’s okay. Fuck, it’s a fucking miracle they didn’t get caught sooner. Jack told him about Shitty’s tendency to burst in on him, but this is the first time it’s happened while Adam was in the room.

He waits another five minutes and calls Ransom. It goes to voicemail. Adam hangs up.

Jack’s bedroom door is still closed, and Adam can’t hear a word that’s being said on the other side. Turns out even Shitty can be quiet when Jack needs him to.

 _sos_ , he texts Ransom again, then opens Angry Birds. His first shot takes out the whole nest, but he’s too busy wondering if this means the end of sex with Jack to really care.

There are two things Adam realizes in this moment.

1\. He doesn’t want to stop having sex with Jack, even if Jack pays more attention to Sidney Crosby’s assists than to Adam’s mouth on his dick and has never seen Golden Girls, and 2. he’d be fine with never having sex with Jack again as long as Jack is okay now.

It’s another twenty minutes before Shitty comes back. Adam looks up from his phone and they stare at each other.

“You’re still here,” Shitty says. Adam feels self-conscious. He really should have left.

“I just wanted to make sure he was okay,” he says.

“He is,” Shitty says, and his eyes are so clear Adam would never have known he was smoking up if he couldn’t still smell the pot in the air. “Listen, brah,” he continues sincerely. “I really didn’t mean to barge in on you back there.”

Adam shakes his head. “I thought you knew,” he says. It feels like he’s been repeating that in his head for ages, _I thought he knew_.

Shitty blows out a breath that makes his moustache flutter. “I did,” he admits. “But Jack didn’t tell me. I mean, you guys haven’t been terribly subtle.”

“We got better,” Adam says defensively, because they did. Shitty flaps a hand at him.

“I just knew when you were over and didn’t go in till I knew you’d left. I think he had an idea that I knew, but it’s a different thing to think it and to have me barge in before you’re ready to tell me, ya know?”

Adam doesn’t actually know, but he thinks he understands. Just because he tells Ransom everything doesn’t mean all best friends are the same, and Jack.

Jack’s life has been on display for the whole world to see since he was born. Sometimes Adam thinks he’s so private because he likes being _able_ to have secrets.

He’s never felt weird about gossiping before, but it doesn’t feel right, talking about Jack with Shitty when Jack’s only a bathroom away. Adam stands and pockets his phone.

“I’m gonna head out then,” he says awkwardly.

Shitty watches him for a long moment. “You should come hang out with Jack and me,” he says, and manages to make it sound like a casual offer, like they’re going downstairs to watch some stupid documentary on the TV in the den instead of heading back into Jack’s fucking room where Adam is going to have to _look_ at Jack again on the bed where he was sucking him off only a few hours ago.

Except Adam actually wants to look at Jack, so he says, “Sure,” like it’s no big deal. Fucking hell, what’s _wrong_ with him?

Shitty leads the way back through the bathroom. It’s a nice bathroom. Adam’s gotten well-acquainted with this bathroom over the past few months, to the point where he has trouble using the disgusting downstairs bathroom at all anymore.

Jack is still on the bed, but he’s fully dressed. He’s still hugging the pillow to his chest. He looks better.

“Hey, Holtzy,” he says, voice colored with surprise.

“We’re hanging out,” Shitty declares overenthusiastically, and bounds to the bed to climb up next to Jack. “C’mon, Holster, we’re gonna fucking cheer this beautiful motherfucker _up!_ ”

Jack’s bed is a queen. Patsy and Batsy keep chirping him about having a mom who replaced the original bed in here with a queen when Jack moved in because her giant baby boy couldn’t fit onto a twin. It’s probably true, but thank god for Alicia Zimmermann because this means there’s enough space on Jack’s other side for Adam.

There’s a system here, he realizes as he watches Shitty queue up Netflix on Jack’s laptop. Whatever freakout Jack had, Shitty knows how to deal with it. Adam settles down to watch some black and white war footage or something and lets him handle it.

It only takes a few minutes for Jack to scoot his butt a few inches down the bed. Adam almost lifts up his arm to make space for him, but Jack curls close to Shitty instead and doesn’t even put up the usual cursory struggle when Shitty wraps both arms around him in an aggressive cuddle. Jack doesn’t notice Adam’s aborted motion, but Shitty does. His moustache twitches up in a smug grin.

When Adam and Jack are together, it’s always just them. It’s not like Adam didn’t know that Jack has a best friend too, but _sharing_ him is still a novel concept somehow. They watch the boring old documentary in complete silence as Adam adjusts to this new situation that’s making him feel painfully like a third wheel.

“I have an anxiety disorder,” Jack says so suddenly both Adam and Shitty start. “A lot of it’s tied to hockey, so it’s also tied to anything to do with hockey. And other things, but mostly hockey.”

Jack doesn’t raise his head from Shitty’s shoulder, so Adam can’t see his face. He meets Shitty’s eyes over Jack’s head and Shitty shakes his head ever so slightly, _be cool_.

“I haven’t had a panic attack in a long time,” Jack continues. “But sometimes I uh, I panic over stupid things and then I have to stave off an attack. Sorry about freaking out on you.”

But if there was an anxiety attack, it would probably be hockey-related, is what he doesn’t say. Like being outed and killing your lifelong dream of a pro hockey career before it even starts. Shitty would never say a word. If Jack can trust Adam and Ransom, he can trust Shitty a thousand times more, but Ransom has some serious test anxiety too, and Adam knows this shit isn’t logical.

“It wasn’t stupid,” he says quietly, finding Jack’s hand to give it a quick squeeze. Jack traps his fingers and doesn’t let go, and that of all things finally eases the pressure in Adam’s chest. “It’s alright. Lesson learned; check the lock on the bathroom door too.”

Jack’s shoulders relax visibly. Adam wonders what he was expecting, but he doesn’t ask, or reach out to rub between Jack’s shoulders.

“And _knock before you enter_ ,” Jack adds pointedly.

Shitty shrugs, jostling Jack on his shoulder. Jack elbows him in the kidney, and Shitty yelps. “Fuck, what the hell, Zimmermann, I am never ever knocking. Best friend privileges over all others. You want me out, you lock the fucking door.”

“Stalin is giving an important speech,” Adam points out. “Pay attention.”

Jack looks at him, appalled. “That’s _Lenin_ ,” he says, and he sounds so petulant Adam has to laugh.

Thanks to Ransom, Adam also knows not to fuck with a system that works, but he can only take this bullshit for so long. Jack might be _interested_ in Lenin or whoever’s speech, but his mouth is still turned down in leftover misery, so Adam reaches forward and pauses the documentary, then switches over to the tab where they’d left Dorothy studying for her French final.

“Brah,” says Shitty, but Jack doesn’t protest, so Adam hits play. It doesn’t take long before Jack is muffling his laughter into Shitty’s chest and Shitty is staring down at him so _fondly_ Adam has to look away.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

 _i said i THOUGHT shitty knew_ , Ransom’s finally replied.

“How old is Sophia?” Jack asks. Adam puts his phone down to think about it.

“In season one? Eighty-seven, maybe,” he says. “I think she was born in 1906.” Shitty raises his eyebrows, so he shrugs. “I have a lot of obscure TV knowledge.”

“In Sicily?” Jack sits up in Shitty’s arms, excited in a way he usually only gets over hockey. “She must have been part of the Great Migration. Over one hundred thousand Sicilians left for the states in that year alone. Around 4.5 million Italians migrated to the States between 1880 to 1930 and one out of four of those Italians was Sicilian.”

Shitty meets Adam’s eyes with a long-suffering grin. “That’s great, Jack,” he says, and somehow manages to be only a little patronizing.

Jack elbows him again. “Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. “I have a lot of obscure pre-1980 migration knowledge.”

“And war knowledge,” Shitty grumbles. “And famine knowledge. And presidential knowledge.”

“But why so many Sicilians?” Adam interrupts to egg Jack on. Shitty looks at him and it’s unnerving, how his eyes turn sharp as he tracks Adam’s arm down to where Jack is still holding his hand. Adam blushes but stubbornly doesn’t pull away, and Shitty nods like he passed a test.

Jack doesn’t notice, because Jack is telling Adam all about Sicilian history. His eyes are bright and he waves his free hand around to make a point and smacks Shitty in the face and barely pauses to apologize, Canadian manners be damned. Adam and Shitty dutifully nod along and sometimes share commiserating grins, and in the background Rose reminisces fancifully about the worst date of her life. Adam tightens his fingers around Jack’s and doesn’t think about the way Jack’s laugh rings and rings in his ears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh guys, i love you so much, and especially those who take the time to leave a little comment, thank you. i'm a very slow writer so sometimes i put five hours into 1500 words and then feel awful about wasting so much time on a rarepair fic that no one's gonna read, but then one of you leaves a comment on the chapter and it makes my whole day and makes me feel like i'm not wasting my time after all. so much love for all of you <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone didn't see the note last chapter (because i added it late, my fault), just letting you know for sure that this fic takes place pre-canon and will end pre-canon. it is completely canon-divergent, i.e. canon events do not take place even though it sort of follows the canon timeline. wherever and however this fic ends, holster is not a stepping stone for jack and bitty's relationship or a plot device for zimbits. holster and jack's relationship in this fic, whatever it is, is entirely separate from bitty and will remain that way.

 

**12/22/2012**

Shitty  
2:31 AM: _my butler wont answer to jarvis or alfred wat do i do_

Larissa  
2:31 AM: _maybe try calling him by his real name_

Shitty  
2:31 AM: _he gets paid to put up with my shit but he wont even call me shitty_

Justin  
2:32 AM: _bro u have a butler_

Adam  
2:32 AM: _bro u have a butler_

Shitty  
2:32 AM: _no my parents have a butler_

Justin  
2:32 AM: _jinx_

Larissa  
2:32 AM: _he does shit for u he’s ur butler 2_

Adam  
2:32 AM: _jinx_

Adam  
2:32 AM: _dammit_

Justin  
2:33 AM: _silence! noone say his name_

Shitty  
2:33 AM: _wait this applies to text too?_

Adam  
2:33 AM: ಠ╭╮ಠ

Larissa  
2:33 AM: _but who’s gonna make horse dick jokes now_

Justin  
2:34 AM: _i still don’t know where he found so many horse dick jokes, or why_

Adam  
2:34 AM: (⌐▨_▨)  (￣人￣)

Shitty  
2:34 AM: _i have an idea about the why_

Jack  
2:34 AM: _It’s 2:30 in the morning please go to sleep._

Adam named the conversation: THE PUSSYCAT DOLLS.

Larissa named the conversation: THE SCOOBY GANG.

Shitty named the conversation: THE BREAKFAST CLUB

Justin  
2:36 AM: _bro_

Adam  
2:36 AM: ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ

Larissa  
2:37 AM: _too real bro_

Larissa named the conversation: THE POWER RANGERS

Jack left the conversation.

Shitty added _Jack Zimmermann_ to the conversation.

Jack  
2:40 AM: _If you keep me up any longer I will make you run suicides till you drop when we get back._

Jack  
2:35 AM: _Also, Holster._

Justin  
2:35 AM: _dammit jack_

Shitty  
2:36 AM: _dammit jack_

Larissa  
2:36 AM: _dammit jack_

Adam  
2:36 AM: _i have a new bff. check it, justin._ （⌐▨ ▨メ 凸

 

* * *

 

**12/25/2012**

Jack  
6:15 AM: _Merry Christmas._

Adam  
7:10 AM: _jingle bells ransom smells_

Adam  
7:10 AM: _happy christmas guys. my mom says she sends her love._

Jack  
7:30 AM: _Tell your mother thank you from us._

Justin  
8:40 AM: _shitty laid an egg~_

Justin  
8:40 AM: _yeah i got nothing for the rest_

Adam  
8:45 AM: _lame, bro_

Justin  
8:45 AM: _be grateful i didn’t make a your mom joke_

Adam  
8:45 AM: _you would never you respect my mom too much_

Justin  
8:46 AM: _this is true_

Shitty  
9:02 AM: _merry fake jesus birthday motherfuckers_

Shitty  
9:02 AM: _holster your mother is better than you_

Larissa  
12:00 PM: _morning bros_

 

* * *

 

**12/26/2012**

Jack  
7:30 AM: _Happy Boxing Day_

Larissa  
1:02 PM: _what even_

Justin  
2:30 PM: _happy boxing day fellow Canadian_

 

* * *

 

**12/28/2012**

Justin  
9:03 AM: _good morning love of my life, father of my children_ ( ˘ ³˘) ♡

Adam  
9:04 AM: (´ε｀ )

Adam  
9:04 AM: _why am i the father i wanna be mama bear_

Justin  
11:15 AM: _sry research stuff_

Justin  
11:15 AM: _my sticklebacks died :(_

Justin  
11:15 AM: _baby do u still love me even tho i killed our children_

Justin  
11:17 AM: _adam_

Justin  
11:17 AM: _adam i am sorry i killed our children_

Adam  
11:20 AM: _i will love you no matter what justin_

Adam  
11:20 AM: _we can make new babies_ (*○’3`)★+ﾟ

Justin  
11:20 AM: ✿♥‿♥✿

 

* * *

 

**01/01/2013**

Shitty  
12:00 AM: _happy new year and save me from my family_

Larissa  
12:00 AM: _happy new year bros_

Justin  
12:00 AM: _happy new year!!!!_

Adam  
12:00 AM: _happy new year!!!!!!!!!_

Jack  
6:02 AM: _Happy new year everyone._

 

* * *

 

**01/09/2013**

Adam  
9:51 AM: _which episode_

Jack  
10:00 AM: _Season 4 episode 9._

Adam  
10:00 AM: _wait i left you at the end of season 3 yesterday when did you manage to watch NINE EPISODES_

Adam  
10:00 AM: _bro did u sleep at all_

Jack  
10:01 AM: _They just killed him. You didn’t even warn me._

Adam  
10:01 AM: _i miscalculated man, i’m sorry_

Adam  
10:01 AM: _i honestly thought you’d relate to jon snow more than robb stark._

Jack  
10:02 AM: _I’m disappointed in you, Holster._

Adam  
10:02 AM: _don’t be so overdramatic_

Jack  
10:02 AM: _Blanche is better than Dorothy._

Adam  
10:03 AM: _YOU TAKE THAT BACK_ ლಠ益ಠ)ლ

Jack  
10:03 AM: _Is that a face?_

Adam  
10:03 AM: _it’s an angry face._

Jack  
10:04 AM: _How do I make a disappointed face?_

Adam  
10:04 AM: ヽ(´Д`;)ﾉ (；一ω一||) (*ノ_<*)

Jack  
10:04 AM: _I think I finally understand why you like these so much. The resemblance is strong._

Adam  
10:05 AM: _…are you chirping me_

 

**01/09/2013**

Jack  
10:16 AM: _Yes. Anyway Uncle Mario and Uncle Wayne are here to pick us up for golf. I’ll talk to you tonight._

Larissa  
10:16 AM: _bro you know you’re texting in the group chat again, right?_

Jack  
10:24 AM: _Didn’t notice. Sorry._

Adam  
10:24 AM: _hang on, when u say uncle mario and uncle wayne_

Shitty  
10:24 AM: _yeah he means Mario Lemieux and Wayne Gretzky_

Shitty  
10:25 AM: _i’d say you get used to him going around talking about living hockey legends like they’re annoying family members, but you really don’t_

Shitty  
10:25 AM: _just wait for him to start complaining about ‘uncle steve’_

Adam  
10:26 AM: _wtf jack_

Jack  
10:36 AM: _He keeps trying to talk to me about my sex life!_

Jack  
10:36 AM: _Shit they saw_

Jack  
10:43 AM: _Hello jack’s friends. This is mario. Nice to meet you. I stole jack’s phone._

Larissa  
10:43 AM: _SHITTY NO_

Shitty  
10:43 AM: _HOLY MOTHER OF GOD_

Adam  
10:43 AM: _OMFGGGGGGG_

Jack  
10:44 AM: _Wayne says hi too._

Adam  
10:44 AM: _omfg i am not equipped to handle this moment on my own_

Larissa  
10:44 AM: _it’s very nice to meet you too Mr Lemieux._

Jack  
10:45 AM: _Nah lardo, you guys call me mario. Jack’s friends are my friends._

Adam  
10:45 AM: _BRO_

Shitty  
10:45 AM: _you know her NAME???_

Jack  
10:46 AM: _Of course, shitty. Jack talks about you all the time._

Jack  
10:46 AM: _I’m guessing the other one is adam._

Larissa  
10:46 AM: _adam_

Shitty  
10:46 AM: _ADAM_

Adam  
10:47 AM: ୧☉□☉୨ ۹(ÒہÓ)۶

Adam  
10:47 AM: _this is the greatest day of my life_

Jack  
10:47 AM: _Guess we’re just missing Ransom then._

Jack  
10:48 AM: _Thank you all for looking out for jack. Wayne and bob and I are all glad he has such great friends. Kid gets lost in his head a lot. Keep an eye on our boy for us, eh?_

Larissa  
10:48 AM: _of course we will, mario._

Shitty  
10:48 AM: _he’s our boy too_

Adam  
10:48 AM: _we got his back_

Jack  
10:49 AM: _Thanks guys. It was great chatting with you. Add me on facebook and i’ll tell you about the time jack tripped and fell into a frozen lake._

Jack  
10:50 AM: _Gotta go! Wayne and bob can’t hold him back for much longer. Jack’s not small anymore and we are old men._

Shitty  
10:52 AM: …

Larissa  
10:52 AM: …

Adam  
10:52 AM: …

Adam  
10:53 AM: _did mario lemieux just soccer mom jack or did i hallucinate that_

Shitty  
10:53 AM: _it was real_

Shitty  
10:54 AM: _it was also heavily implied that wayne gretzky was helping bad bob zimmermann wrestle down his son so mario lemieux could steal his phone and embarrass him in front of his friends_

Larissa  
10:54 AM: _i don’t even play hockey and i can’t believe what just happened_

Larissa named the conversation: MARIO LEMIEUX FAN CLUB

Adam  
10:55 AM: _rans will never forgive himself for missing this_

Larissa  
10:55 AM: _idk about you bros but i’mma add mario on fb_

Adam  
10:56 AM: _already done_

Shitty  
10:56 AM: _maybe i will too, adam_

Larissa  
10:56 AM: _ADAM_

Justin  
4:13 PM: _WHAT THE FUCK DID I MISS_

 

* * *

 

Jack’s features pixelate in and out for a while before focusing. He’s in bed, on his side with the laptop pulled close to his face so Adam sees his whole mouth when he yawns.

“You really didn’t sleep last night, did you?” he asks, amused.

Jack rubs at his eyes. “I couldn’t even nap, we were out all day. Sorry about Uncle Mario.” Adam’s grin gets impossibly wider, and Jack pulls a pillow over his face. “Please tell me you’re not talking to him on Facebook.”

“I’m not _yet_ ,” Adam says. “And I won’t if you tell me the story about how you fell into a frozen lake.”

Jack groans into his pillow. “I grew up skating in private rinks and didn’t think to watch out for _tree roots_ sticking out of the _ice_. And I was a fat kid. I crashed pretty hard. Nearly got hypothermia.”

Adam thinks this over. “I might ask _Mario_ anyway. Pretty sure he tells it better.”

Jack’s shoulders shake like he might be laughing. He tucks the pillow back under his head and smiles at the screen. “As long as you don’t share deets with Uncle Steve I think it’s fine.”

“Speaking of,” Adam says. “Adam?”

Jack flushes in his cheeks with cold and exertion, but his blush starts at his ears when he’s pleased or embarrassed.

“I uh,” he pauses, tips of his ears turning red. “I call you Adam in my head? So I might have accidentally told him your name is Adam?”

Adam leans back in his chair, trying not to blush too because Jack has never, ever called him that to his face. He’s gotten so used to being Holster sometimes he starts writing ‘Holster’ on his forms before he catches himself.

He wants to ask if Jack calls everyone by their given names in his head, but that feels weird. Jack is full-on blushing now, cheeks bright red, and it’s all kinds of adorable.

Then Jack yawns again, and Adam laughs. “Bro, why are you even here? Go to sleep.”

“I said I’d talk to you tonight,” Jack protests even though his words are slurring. “We have to watch the next episode.”

“There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to sit through a whole hour of Game of Thrones tonight, man,” Adam says, tipping his chair back on two legs. His phone buzzes on his desk and he grabs it, types out a quick, _night_ , to Ransom’s goodnight text, and puts it back down.

Jack is watching him, eyes heavy but alert. “How’s Ransom?”

“Fine,” Adam shrugs. “Busy with research as usual.”

Jack nods slowly. “Okay,” he says, then, carefully. “He uh, he hasn’t been talking much on the group chat.”

Adam looks at his phone, where the last text from Ransom before this was in the group chat hours ago, and before that, a simple good morning. Ransom hasn’t been talking much to anyone, but Adam gets it. Guy’s trying so hard to get into that 3-2 program with Columbia, he wants to have at least two research papers completed by the end of his time at Samwell. That’s a lot of work straight from the get-go.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs again. “He’s busy.”

Jack watches him for a long moment, the way he does when he’s trying to figure out the best play on another team. Adam suddenly feels tired; he doesn’t want to be the other team right now.

“Jack,” he says, and something in his voice must give him away, because Jack’s eyes soften immediately. He reaches towards the screen like he can touch Adam through it.

“Let’s watch a couple episodes of Golden Girls till I fall asleep, eh?” he says. Adam’s stomach uncoils.

“If you start snoring in the middle of an episode it’s your job to catch up,” he says, and they begin season three.

Jack doesn’t even last a whole episode. He falls asleep with Rose grumbling about her children in the background, face half-hidden in a pillow and snoring softly. Adam hits pause on the episode and just looks at him for a moment. Jack has very simple, ordinary ways of making people in his life feel special. He never backs out when he says he’ll Skype, even if he’s dead tired from practice or interacting with relatives, or his dad’s put him in a bad mood. He shows up even if he can only stay for a few minutes, or at least texts to let Adam know he won’t make it, and he never watches an episode of Golden Girls without Adam.

Adam picks up his phone and scrolls through his messages to the last time Ransom suggested a Skype date and forgot about it, almost a week ago. Then he gets ready for bed, crawls under the covers with his laptop, and loads a new episode of Breaking Bad, the one show he hasn’t seen that Jack loves.

He only ends the video call when his laptop runs out of charge, several hours later.

 

* * *

 

**01/16/2013**

Larissa  
3:00 PM: _yo when r ppl getting back. i got sunday._

Shitty  
3:12 PM: _sun b4 classes start_

Adam  
3:40 PM: _sat. mom’s coming down w/ me._

Jack  
5:50 PM: _Friday._

Justin  
8:33 PM: _monday bros. not paying extra for extra dorm time._

 

* * *

 

**01/16/2013**

Jack  
9:03 PM: _Do you need help moving in?_

Adam  
9:05 PM: _just got one duffel so i’m good. come by around 12 tho. u haven’t met my mom._

 

* * *

 

Jack does come by. He knocks on Adam’s door at exactly 12 pm, charms Adam’s mom in three minutes flat, and offers to take them out for coffee at Annie’s. He smiles bright and cheerful and chatters about the campus and classes and his French-Canadian accent is stronger than Adam’s ever heard it, all ‘allo’s and ‘tank you’s and an ‘eh’ at the end of every sentence. The only reason Adam recognizes him at all is because he knew this Jack first, saw him on TV and heard him on the radio before he actually met him. This is Jack Zimmermann the Wunderkind, Bad Bob’s son Jack Zimmermann who learned to give an interview before he learned to make friends. It’s surreal as fuck.

Jack walks them back to the dorm and makes noises about leaving, but his mom makes him stay and talk with her as Adam goes to shower.

“Remember to visit, Jack,” she tells him before she gets into her car. “And look after my idiot boys. I may have mothered one but I know there are two.”

“I’ll do my best, Rachel, but you know what a handful they are,” Jack smiles beatifically, and folds all five feet of her into his arms as easily as he hugs Lardo. Something about tiny women lets them completely bypass his personal bubble.

“How come you can flirt with my mom but you can’t flirt with anyone else?” Adam demands as they watch her drive around the corner. His mom seems to really like this version of Jack, almost as much as she loves Ransom. The Canadian politeness goes over really well with parents.

“She’s lovely,” Jack says, and in front of Adam’s eyes changes back into awkward, sweetly shy Jack who couldn’t string a full sentence together when the captain of the women’s volleyball team asked him out.

“You don’t have to do that,” Adam says.

“Do what?” Jack asks. Adam waves a hand at his everything.

“You know, be all ESL foreign exchange media presence or whatever,” he says. “It’s just my mom; she’s not some tabloid reporter.”

“Oh, that’s not,” Jack stops, surprised. “I just wanted to make a good impression.”

“She’d like you fine like _this_ ,” Adam insists. _I like you fine like this_ , he doesn’t say.

Jack falls quiet, the tips of his ears turning red. Adam kicks at a loose piece of concrete as they walk back to his room.

“Your mom’s beautiful,” Jack says eventually. Adam groans; it’s his chirping voice. “So who do you get your looks from?”

“Fuck off, Zimmermann,” he leans into Jack’s space to whisper in his ear. “You’re totally into this.”

Jack plants a hand at the small of his back, steers him the rest of the way into the room, shuts the door and traps Adam against it. His eyes are very blue in the sun.

“So what if I am?” he challenges, and Adam surges down to kiss him.

He missed this over break, he realizes as Jack kisses him back, hands stroking down his sides. Jack hooks his fingers into Adam’s belt loops and walks them backwards until his knees hit the bed. Adam lands on his forearms over him and bends down to kiss him again, slow and sweet. If he had to pick one thing Jack is best at it would be this, the slip and slide of lips against lips, the way Jack draws Adam’s tongue into his mouth. Jack could probably make him come just by kissing him. Adam licks at Jack’s teeth and considers putting that theory to the test.

“Hey,” he says when his arms start aching from holding up his weight. “Would you fuck me?”

Jack goes still under him. Adam draws back to meet his eyes, and Jack’s hands come up to thread through his still-wet hair. He kisses Adam, just once.

“Have you done that before?” he asks.

“No,” Adam says honestly. “But I want to.”

That’s usually all Jack wants to hear, that Adam _wants_. Jack likes giving him what he wants. But this time he rolls them over and straddles him, thighs braced on either side of his chest. He looks so good Adam has to fight off the desire to avoid this talk altogether and pull out Jack’s dick, let Jack sit right there and feed it to him one inch at a time.

Jack must see something of that thought on Adam’s face, because his thumb comes up to trace his lips. Adam sucks it down, feels it press on his tongue. Jack is growing hard against his chest and it makes his dick twitch in his pants.

“What about fingers?” Jack asks, voice low and throaty like it gets when he’s turned on. Adam thrills in it.

“No,” he says again, pushing Jack’s thumb out of his mouth with his tongue. It smears cool and wet over his cheek and it should be gross but it’s just really fucking hot. “But wanna find out.”

“Fuck,” Jack says when Adam rubs his palm over the bulge in his jeans. “Wait, hey, let’s start slow. How about we try fingers today and see if you’re into that first.”

Adam frowns a little, but he can see the logic there. He undoes Jack’s jeans and drags blunt nails over his underwear.

“Yeah, alright,” he says as Jack shivers. “Shit, okay, fuck me with your fingers.”

“Um,” says Jack. He’s blushing. “I sort of. I want.”

Adam pays attention, because Jack has very few wants when it comes to sex and every single one of them so far has really been about what _Adam_ wants. Jack’s blush spreads down his chest and he’s so fucking _pretty_ , god, what did Adam do to deserve this.

“Can I eat you out?” Jack finally asks, shy like he genuinely thinks Adam might say no.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Adam breathes, and Jack smiles like Adam’s doing _him_ the favor. He’s so fucking ridiculous.

They’ve gotten very efficient at getting naked. Adam wraps his arms around a pillow and lays down on his stomach while Jack roots around in his desk drawer for lube. Adam watches him out of the corner of his eyes and wishes he’d thought to buy the flavored kind from the campus safe sex store.

By the time Jack kneels behind him Adam’s managed to think himself into an anxious loop, because what if it’s gross and he doesn’t like it and doesn’t want Jack to fuck him anymore? Adam is _so_ bad at letting things go.

Whatever Shitty says about Jack being a hockey robot, he’s always, always known when Adam’s nervous, and he always, always knows how to make it better. Jack’s weight drapes over his back like a heavy blanket, and he’s three inches shorter than Adam but he still manages to bracket him with his arms and chest and thighs until he’s a line of heat all the way down Adam’s spine. Adam tilts his head into the kiss he knows is coming and sighs into it when it does; it’s as gentle as he expected. It’s comforting, to feel what he expects.

Jack holds him there until the tension drains out of his body and he’s putty in Jack’s hands.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs then. Adam kisses him again, feeling his lips curve. He remembers when Jack never used to smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll try not to fart in your face,” he chirps, and delights in hearing Jack laugh, loud and halting and nothing like the perfect little chuckle he offered Adam’s mom when she was here.

“I’d appreciate that,” Jack says, then his lips are at the back of Adam’s neck, hints of tongue and teeth down his spine until he’s kissing the small of Adam’s back, pulling Adam up and positioning him on his knees. His big hands spread over Adam’s ass.

It’s—weird. Jack plants long, sucking kisses on his hole and Adam twitches, then he licks broad stripes up the crack of his ass and it’s kinda just. Wet. He folds his arms on the pillow and settles down to wait for fingers.

Except Jack doesn’t give him fingers. Jack keeps kissing at him until it goes from weird to _weirdly hot_ , and only when Adam’s starting to get half-hard from sheer anticipation does he start flicking his tongue, quick kitten licks at his hole that make Adam’s whole body shudder and shit _how_ is that so _good?_

“Oh,” Adam hears himself say, and Jack rewards him by pressing _inside_ him with his tongue, alternating between licking at him and licking _in_ him until Adam is rock hard and moaning shamelessly into his pillow.

“Fuck,” he says, when he hears the cap of the lube bottle pop open. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says again when Jack comes back, feeling a finger slide into him effortlessly. Jack licks around the finger and then his tongue is pressing into him too and Adam is pretty sure he’s going to die if he doesn’t get a hand on his dick but he also doesn’t want this to end; he wants Jack to _never stop_.

The second finger feels different. His muscles tense without his permission and Jack stops pressing into him. His tongue keeps lapping but it’s his other hand that makes Adam relax, massaging warm and soothing down his thigh. Adam is fucking _wet_ , lube and saliva trickling down his balls. His thighs tremble when Jack pumps his fingers, in and out and setting a solid pace.

“Okay?” Jack asks at some point and all he can do is nod wordlessly. There’s an unfamiliar pressure building inside him and he’s not sure if he opens his mouth he won’t start fucking crying or something. Jack’s fingers are inside him. Adam wants _Jack_ inside him.

He does sob, when Jack angles his wrist and rubs his fingers over his prostate. The sound is punched out of him and Jack slows down immediately but he manages to gasp, “Keep going,” so Jack spreads his fingers and puts his tongue in the space between them and Adam’s hips jerk and he can’t, he _can’t_ , he reaches for his dick but Jack gets to it first and it only takes a few pulls before Adam’s coming with a sharp wail he doesn’t even recognize as his.

His knees buckle but Jack catches him, of course he does. He eases his fingers from Adam’s hole and pushes him to lie on his side instead of in the wet spot. Adam would not have given a single fuck. The world is hazy and every one of his nerve endings is on fire.

“Jack,” he hears himself say distantly. “Jack.”

Jack’s hand strokes down his back. Adam knows that hand now, hard and calloused. It’s familiar and comforting and his body jerks, oversensitive.

“I got you,” Jack says quietly. Adam feels something in him give at the sound of his voice. He closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, Jack is still there.

“You’re awake,” he says inanely when he sees Adam blinking at him. He clicks out of whatever he was doing on Adam’s laptop and comes back to the bed, kneeling on the floor so he’s at eye level with Adam. “Feeling okay?”

He looks so concerned. Adam smiles helplessly. “Yeah,” he says. His limbs are heavy like they get after a good orgasm, but nothing hurts or even feels weird.

Jack touches the back of his hand, tentative. “Did you like it?”

Adam presses his lips together to keep himself from laughing. This isn’t a laughing moment.

“Yeah,” he replies instead. “I liked it a lot. I’d like your dick, next time.”

Jack laughs. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

Adam wants to kiss him. Jack reads it in the purse of his lips and leans close. He doesn’t taste any different.

Adam gestures to Jack’s lap when they break apart. “Do you want me to…?”

Jack shakes his head. “I’m good. Are you hungry? Come get dinner with me.”

Adam looks at him, confused. “We just got lunch.”

“We got coffee and sandwiches,” Jack corrects him, which, fair. That’s not really lunch, not for them. “And you’ve been asleep a few hours.”

“Oh, shit,” Adam says. He didn’t even notice that the desk lamp was on. The sky outside is dark. “Sorry about that.”

Jack lets him sit up. His eyes are impossibly fond. “I didn’t mind. I finished another couple episodes of Game of Thrones.”

“God,” says Adam. “I’m throwing off your routine all over the place.”

“Yeah, well.” Jack starts stripping the sheets as Adam drags himself off to find clothes. He’s given up on making Jack stop cleaning up after them, or letting him do it for a change. He can eventually recognize a calming habit when he sees one.

Adam holds the door open, and Jack doesn’t even check outside before ducking his head to press his lips to the pulse at Adam’s neck. Adam raises a hand to hold him there and feels his body sing.

Jack pulls away and smiles, gorgeous and shy. “I don’t mind.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly recommend reading this chapter on your laptop if you don't know French. You can hover your mouse over the French text for the English translation, but that might not work on a phone or tablet, and the French dialogue here is pretty important. Google translate isn't great for this. Thanks to [dadbob](http://dadbob.tumblr.com/) and [naiadique](http://naiadique.tumblr.com/) for the translations!
> 
> Also, you may have noticed the addition of an extra chapter in the total. This is because I had to break one of the chapters into two parts to make it flow better. We're halfway there!

 

“Why is Ransom under the table?” Jack asks, pausing as he passes them in the library. There are two thick history textbooks tucked under his arm.

“It’s a system,” Adam says, typing out another equation. He can’t tell if his answer’s right. “He gets like this before exams.”

Jack watches Ransom mutter to himself for a few seconds, concerned. “He looks like he’s having a panic attack. I’m gonna—” Adam snatches his wrist before he can bend down.

“He’s a delicate fucking ecosystem, bro,” he says seriously. “Like a coral reef. You can’t mess with the system.”

Ransom’s been in coral reef mode since they got back from break a week ago. It’s all late nights in the library and long study sessions with his lab partners and anxiety spilling everywhere. Adam has no idea if he’s even eating when Adam doesn’t bring him food.

He doesn’t say any of that to Jack, though. He lets Jack watch Ransom for a little longer and then turn to him.

“Did you guys talk?” Jack asks bluntly, like Ransom isn’t _right there_. Granted, he’s paying zero attention to them, but still.

“Didn’t get around to it,” Adam mutters, blinking hard. His contacts are bothering him and he knows it’s because he uses them too often and his glasses pretty much never.

Jack frowns. “Yale is this weekend,” he says, and he’s using his Captain voice. “Talk it out ASAP.”

“Sure,” Adam says, eyes on his laptop, and Jack frowns some more. Then he reaches out to squeeze Adam’s shoulder.

“Holster,” he says, and Adam finally looks at him. Jack’s eyes are very soft. “You know he’s not the only one you can talk to, right?”

Adam gives his hand a quick squeeze. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and Jack nods.

“I’ll see you later,” he tells him, and walks over to the couches where Shitty is trying to read three books at once. Adam stares at his screen again.

“Hey Rans,” he says. “I’m heading back to the dorm.”

Ransom doesn’t say anything. Adam closes his laptop, packs up his shit, and goes up to the fifth floor of the library where only seniors and grad students ever venture, so he can figure out his equations in peace without running into anyone else who might want to talk to him.

 

* * *

 

Practice is shit.

Jack skates off the ice, tears off his helmet, and lays into Adam and Ransom immediately.

“What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you two?” he yells, and shit, he’s furious. “Not _one successful pass_ today. Not _one_. If you don’t want to play, fucking _tell me_ and I’ll replace you on first line with Patsy and Batsy.”

Adam stares at his feet, cheeks hot with humiliation. Ransom is just as quiet next to him, and even the coaches have gone silent.

“We have _two days_ until Yale and I don’t know what problems the two of you have, but you’re bringing it onto the ice,” his voice echoes in the stillness of Faber. “You couldn’t wait until next fucking _week_ to start this shit? You’re _first line_. The _entire team_ is depending on you. _Johnson_ is depending on you. I don’t care what shit you’ve got going in your lives but you fucking _leave it behind_ when you come in here, and if you can’t do that then _get off my fucking team!_ ”

“Jack,” Coach Murray interjects gently. “We should go over some plays before you get out.”

Jack gives them one last glare before following Coach Murray out to the hall. The rest of the team hovers for a few seconds, unsure if offering comfort would make things worse, then heads to the lockers. Shitty sticks around a little longer.

“Hey, don’t take it personally,” he says awkwardly before he goes, too. “You know how he gets. It’s a big game. Heard his dad might come down for it.”

Adam presses his lips together. Jack is right, is the thing. It’s not just his regular preseason bitchiness carrying over into the season; he’s got a fucking point. They’re D-men. It’s their job to protect the goal and the goalie, and the way they’ve been playing Johnson’s going to have to do all the work come Friday.

“I’m gonna shower off,” he says. Ransom keeps his head down, picking at the laces on his skates even when Adam looks at him. “I’ll see you back at the dorm.”

“I’m going to the library,” Ransom says. Adam closes his eyes.

“Rans, we were awful out there,” he says. “We have two days, we can put in a couple more practice hours. Fix this.”

Ransom shakes his head. “I don’t have time for more practice. Jack’s already got us skating morning and evening and I have to study.”

“I couldn’t feel you on the ice at all,” Adam says, frustrated. “I passed the puck and you weren’t there. That doesn’t happen to us. It’s not just that we need more practice; you and I are _off_. We have been since winter break. Jack already pulled me aside once to tell me to talk to you.”

“Oh, well, if _Jack_ told you to,” Ransom mutters. Adam hears it like a slap to the face.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he demands.

Ransom stands up, and Adam realizes belatedly that he’s _angry_ , that the dressing-down in front of the whole team humiliated him a lot more than it did Adam. Ransom went from a good high school team to a good college team. Adam and Jack came to Samwell from juniors, and Adam’s used to it, getting yelled at on and off the ice in front of his teammates, sometimes not even for a reason.

“Look man, your boyfriend wanted you to talk to me, and you did,” Ransom says harshly. “But you gotta get it through your head that I’m not keeping up a 4.0 because I have time to put in extra practice hours. Shitty might be able to do it on his genius or maybe cause he’s majoring in fucking humanities but I’ve got two 200-level _actual science classes_ to keep up with on top of my research, _plus_ I’m on a college hockey team going on fucking roadies so I can’t even use my weekends to catch up.”

“Catch up on fucking _what?_ ” Adam bites back, equally pissed off. He knows, intellectually, that this is just a fight. But shit, he can’t believe he’s fallen so far out of sync with his best friend that he didn’t even notice it building. “You know your textbooks cover to cover, you read research papers for _fun_. You’re just wasting away in the library cause you’re scared of failing and guess what, Justin, you’re not the only fucking person who’s worried about that shit!”

Ransom rolls his eyes so expansively Adam kinda hopes they fall out of his head. “What do you know? You’re majoring in, what, econ? I’m aiming for honors in _biology_ and prepping for pre-med. Don’t talk like you get it when you actually have the option of putting your free time towards more practice what I need to do with _my_ free time is study. Guess what, Holtzy, I have bigger aspirations in my life than becoming some college hockey coach!”

His words ring through Faber. Adam stares at him, and sees the exact moment it hits Ransom, what he just said.

“Shit, Adam,” he says, and he actually sounds apologetic. “I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” Adam cuts him off. “No, really, save it. I don’t know why you hang out with a bunch of humanities and social science dumb jocks who are _settling_ in life instead of all your ambitious STEM friends if that’s how you feel, but I don’t actually care. You do you, man. I’m gonna take my lowly aspirations and go shower.”

“Holster,” Ransom pleads. Adam ignores him and tugs off his skates.

“Also, newsflash,” he adds. “Jack isn’t my boyfriend. He told me to talk to you because that’s his fucking job, that’s what you do when you have the C. We hang out cause we’re friends, not cause we’re dating. And you don’t get to bring that up in fucking Faber where anyone can hear. You have no right.”

Ransom’s mouth snaps shut, and Adam feels a mean surge of pleasure at the guilt on his face. He ignores that, too, and leaves him behind.

 

* * *

 

Ransom doesn’t come in to shower. Adam stands under the spray for a long time and feels shitty about himself, because who the fuck would have guessed that that’s how his best friend feels about his life choices. Lardo talks sometimes about how the sciences look down on the arts and humanities, and every time Adam comes to Ransom’s defense. It’s Samwell. No one cares about that.

Lardo was right after all, he thinks, and blinks water out of his eyes. He wants to cry. He wants to call his mom. He wants to go to Jack, but he doesn’t want to talk. He wants him and Ransom to be okay again.

Maybe what he needs is a good fuck to get him out of his head, but he’s not really ready to face Jack again. Adam hates disappointing people.

Whether he’s ready or not, Jack is waiting for him in the empty locker room when Adam steps out of the shower, freshly-washed hair plastered to his forehead.

“I lost my temper,” Jack says. “I shouldn’t have.”

Adam is exhausted. He can’t deal with Jack right now. “You were doing your job,” he says, pulling on his clothes. “We were shit today.”

“You were,” Jack agrees. “But I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

Adam side-eyes him. “Did Shitty talk to you?”

Jack looks abashed. “Yes,” he says. “But I mean it. I’ll apologize to Ransom too.”

“I appreciate that.” Adam zips his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

He pushes past Jack and doesn’t have the energy to feel bad.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t call his mom. He doesn’t go to Jack.

He doesn’t talk to Ransom.

 

* * *

 

They lose the game.

They lose the game and it’s their fault, his and Ransom’s. No one says it out loud but Adam sees them thinking it even as Hoser slaps their backs. It’s their fault because they’re first line and they fucking _malfunctioned_ out there, completely out of sync to the point where Patsy and Batsy had to be sent out to rescue Johnson.

In his long history of playing hockey, Adam has never faced a loss that can be traced directly back to him. Ransom keeps his head down. Even Shitty is subdued.

Jack’s face is a thundercloud. He limps into the locker room, looks around at all of them and shakes his head.

“Sorry, guys,” he says quietly, and that makes Adam feel worse because fuck knows Jack and Johnson are the only reasons their point difference didn’t hit the roof tonight.

By the time Adam leaves the shower, Jack has disappeared and Ransom won’t look at him. He feels his teammates’ eyes on him as he trudges past and wants to scream.

Shitty follows him out. Adam doesn’t really want to talk, but he gets the feeling that it’s gonna be either Shitty, or Jack after having talked to Shitty, and he’d rather take Shitty.

“Holster,” Shitty says, uncharacteristically serious. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Adam huffs out a breath and reconsiders. At least Jack would be honest with his platitudes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“It’s a team sport for a reason,” Shitty says, and Adam laughs, bitter.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “It wasn’t all my fault. Ransom definitely gets half the blame.”

“Hey,” Shitty says, frowning. “Jack missed three shots on goal. Hoser fucked up two assists. Patsy and Batsy got intercepted a bunch of times. Johnson let four shots in.”

“The only reason Johnson let four shots in,” Adam parrots sarcastically. “Is because Ransom passed _to the other team_ in front of _our_ goal. We all know Patsy and Batsy aren’t as good as me and Rans. Jack missed three shots on goal because he kept getting slammed into the fucking boards because I was too busy crashing into Ransom to stop it. Shits, man, he almost didn’t get up after that last check. For someone who calls himself his best friend you’re really quick to throw him under the bus.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that last bit, but Shitty waves it off. “Jack can take it,” he says, which is so patently untrue that Adam can’t even laugh, just stares disbelievingly.

“Okay, yeah,” Shitty says after a second. “That was uncool of me. But my point stands, brah. It’s a team sport.”

Adam is already done with this conversation. “You do this for Jack a lot?” he asks. It sounds practiced in a weird way. Shitty’s moustache twitches.

“Yeah,” he says.

“It work on him?”

Shitty shrugs. “No,” he says. “But even if it doesn’t make you feel better, sometimes you need to hear it. Because it’s true.”

“It’s not making me feel better,” Adam says honestly.

“I know,” Shitty says. “You and Ransom need to sort this out on your own. But listen, man, it’s just a game. It’s not the end of the fucking world.”

“Another one of those things I need to hear even though it doesn’t make me feel better?” Adam snipes. “Thought awful pep talks were the captain’s job.”

“Jack will do his part tomorrow when he’s not falling apart somewhere,” Shitty says, and something about the way he says it makes Adam wonder why Shitty’s with him instead of with Jack. “What I’m doing is a friend thing. This is what friends are for, brah; they tell you to get your head out of where the sun don’t shine. So, get your head out of your fucking ass and remember you’re not the only person on the team.”

Adam runs a hand over his face. “Fine. Look, Shitty, thanks for this, whatever it was, but I think I’m just gonna go home and sleep.”

Shitty watches him for a long moment, then nods. “Good idea,” he says, and walks off without preamble. Adam decides to take the back exit, because he’s not sure where Ransom is and he doesn’t want to run into any more well-meaning teammates.

But no, of fucking course Adam doesn’t get any peace, because Jack’s right outside the back door. Adam hears his voice from around the corner and considers turning around and risking the main entrance anyway.

“T'es pas sérieux, Papa,” Jack says.

Ah, this is why Shitty isn’t with Jack. He’s with his dad.

Adam does turn around then, but he sees Ransom crossing the hall on the other end and yeah, he’ll take eavesdropping on a conversation in a language he doesn’t understand over having to be in the same space as Ransom. He’s already debating crashing on the disgusting green couch in the Haus instead of their shared room tonight.

“Je te conseil pas d'abandonner l'NHL; je demande juste que tu considères d'autre options,” Bad Bob Zimmermann says. He did come down for the game; they all met him earlier in the day, and some of them even got his autograph.

Adam feels worse now; he doesn’t know anything about Jack’s relationship with his dad but it doesn’t take a genius to guess Jack had something to prove tonight, with the weight of his hockey legend father’s eyes on his back. Adam and Ransom lost him the game in front of Bad Bob Zimmermann.

“T'as plus de deux ans à y aller à Samwell,” Bad Bob continues. _Call me Bob_ , he’d told them, but Adam genuinely can’t bring himself to call him _Bob_ even in his head. He slides down the wall and lets their voices wash over him. It’s kinda soothing, just hearing them talk and not having to care about what they’re saying.  “Y'a encore du temps à changer ta spécialisation, réfléchir à quoi tu veux faire avec ta vie. Tu peux obtenir ton diplôme et travailler dans le monde universitaire. Tu aimes l'histoire and je me souviens que t'aimais aussi entraîner l'équipe peewee. Tu pourrais enseigner.”

“J'aimais leur enseigner à _patiner!_ ” Jack’s voice rises. “J'aime le _hockey!_ ”

“Le NHL sera difficile, Jack,” Bad Bob replies. He has a nice voice. It’s a lot like Jack’s, too. Adam remembers when he first saw Bad Bob in person and thought, this is what Jack will look like in thirty years.

“Ça sera particulièrement difficile pour toi. Le gens seront méchants, les médias seront méchants, tu vas être checké plus que personne d'autre et ils diront que tu le cherchais. Si tu joues un jeu comme tu l'as joué au jourd'hui—”

“Alors on parle du jeu de ce soir,” Jack cuts him off, suddenly calm. Adam opens his eyes.

 _Could you get Shitty for me, please?_ Jack asks in his head in that same unnervingly calm voice. Adam’s probably imagining it, though. Jack and his dad are clearly having a bit of an argument about the NHL, but it’s his dad.

“Je parle pas seulement du jeu de ce soir Jack. Mais oui, ça a rapport,” Bad Bob sounds frustrated now. “T'as joué mal au jourd'hui, pas du tout au niveau de l'NHL, mais c'est pas le point. On parle de ton avenir. Sans parler de si tu décide de faire ton coming out. On t'encouragerait, tu le sais, mais en dehors de l'NHL, personne se soucierait. Tu pourrais faire n'importe quoi, étant heureux et fesant n'importe quoi.”

“Je veux jouer le hockey,” Jack is still very calm.

“Juste réfléchis-y,” Bad Bob says. So far Adam has understood the words ‘game’ and ‘hockey’. He wonders if Jack is getting a dressing-down for losing, but it doesn’t sound like that kind of a conversation. “Moi et ta mère voulont seulement que tu sois heureux. Tu pourrais être heureux avec une autre carrière. Si non tu pourrais être entraîneur de hockey interuniversitaire; ça ne te ferait pas anxieux come le hockey professionel.”

“C'est pas le hockey qui me fait anxieux!” Jack finally starts shouting. “C'est des choses comme ça! Je sais ce que je veux, Papa! Je sais ce que je veux, et je le poursuis! Juste parce que j'ai des troubles d'anxiété veut pas dire que tu doix perdre espoir en moi! Ça veut pas dire que je doix abandonner mes rêves! Je peux quand même jouer!”

“Jack, je perd pas espoir en toi; je veux seulement que tu saches qu'on t'encouragera même si tu décide de ne pas aller dans l'NHL, et que tu devrais peut-être considèrer faire quelque chose d'autre avant que ce sport te pousse à surdoser encore,” Bad Bob says soothingly, and Adam is too tired to try to parse random words anymore. He tunes Jack’s angry shouting out. The adrenaline from the game is wearing off; he feels sleepy.

He’s not sure how long he sits there before he hears footsteps coming his way. Jack rounds the corner, alone, and stops when he sees him.

“Ça fait combien de temps que t'es là?” he says. Adam blinks at him.

“What?” he asks. Jack pauses, confused, then repeats the question in English. His accent is distinctly heavier after speaking to his dad in French for so long.

“A while,” Adam replies, and rolls his eyes when Jack’s frown turns into a scowl. He’s still favoring one leg; Adam wonders if he put a brace or bandage on it. “Don’t worry, didn’t understand a word. Well, except ‘hockey’, but what else would you talk about with Bad Bob Zimmermann after a game like that?”

“A game like that,” Jack repeats slowly. Adam pushes to his feet and spreads his hands.

“Yeah, you know, the tits-up fuckery we presented in there,” he says as casually as he can manage. “Better luck next time, right?”

Jack’s shoulders square up.

“You mean that tits-up fuckery _you_ presented in there,” he says. “I told you to leave whatever shit you have in your life off the ice and you brought it in there with you and we lost because you and Ransom couldn’t get it together. This isn’t a fucking _joke_. This could have cost me my _career_.”

Adam scowls back, because yeah, he fucked up, and he wanted to hear someone say it out loud, but Jack doesn’t need to rub it in his fucking face. “It’s one game, Jack,” he says, recognizing Shitty’s words coming out of his mouth. “It’s not the end of the world.”

And that. That was the wrong thing to say, Adam knows instantly. He’s not Shitty and he doesn’t get Shitty privileges, and Jack’s eyes are a fucking storm cloud.

“It’s not one game when you’re aiming for a career in the _NHL_ ,” Jack’s voice rises again, vicious. “I’m not aiming for a job as a college hockey coach; this is my whole fucking life! I can’t make it to the NHL on the back of a team that can’t even keep its shit together during _playoffs_. You played like shit today and you cost us the game and I told you already, if you’re not gonna be serious about this then get off my fucking team!”

That’s two for two in one fucking week, and Adam’s resolve cracks in half. He doesn’t realize he’s shouting back until his voice drowns out Jack’s.

“Oh, _excuse me_ ,” he sneers. “For not doing my fucking best to win every fucking game for _you_ , your highness. Excuse me for having a life outside hockey, which is more than I can fucking say about _you_. Guess what, asshole, best friends fight; they don’t spend all their time fixing your shit like Shitty does for you, and what a convenience _that_ must be! _Shitty_ should’ve gotten the fucking C, god knows he doesn’t run and hide after every game; he actually looks out for the team, which, by the way, is supposed to be _your_ job, _Captain_.”

Jack stares at him, eyes very wide. Adam has the unkind thought that no one’s probably ever shouted _back_ at him before, fucking celebrity royalty that he is.

“And guess what, I’ve got more important things to worry about than you,” Adam spits, feeling petty and mean and fuck but he might just deserve to feel that way tonight. “Like Ransom, and the fact that there are bigger and better things out there than your precious NHL. You can’t just shove your shit in my face; I don’t have time for your issues.”

Jack backs up slowly, away from where Adam is towering over him. He braces himself against the wall and looks up at Adam, face shuttered in a way it hasn’t been in months.

“I never asked you to deal with my issues,” Jack reminds him quietly. “You don’t have to.”

Adam knows he’s going to regret this later, but he’s still so fucking pissed he can’t stop himself from saying, “Good, cause I won’t,” before stalking away.

He doesn’t look back, but he feels Jack’s eyes follow him out the door.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

It’s surprising, how easy it is to avoid someone you live with if you try hard enough. Half a week passes without Adam seeing Ransom outside practice, and all he has to do is make sure he’s asleep before Ransom comes back from the library, wake up early to go running, and skip team breakfast.

Jack is easier to avoid and easier to feel guilty over, because unlike with Ransom, Adam has no moral high ground over him. For all that Jack started the yelling, Adam had the last word, and they were awful words. Their easy physicality disappears overnight. Adam hasn’t seen him enough to know for sure, but he gets the feeling he’s not the only one Jack lost that with since the fight. When Shitty knocks their helmets together Jack shrinks away from him, too.

For all that Adam knows everyone on campus, he never realized how few people he actually wants to be around. His best friend isn’t speaking to him, Jack isn’t speaking to him, and Adam feels weird about talking to Shitty and making him choose between Adam and Jack when it was both their faults.

He spends a lot of time hanging out in Lardo’s studio, watching Netflix as she paints.

That’s what he’s doing on Thursday, nearly a full week after the stupid game that ruined his life, when someone stops in front of the giant paint pot he’s considering brewing tub juice in once Lardo confirms the paint was nonhazardous.

“Can I help you?” he looks up at the guy, then looks around. Lardo’s disappeared, probably to the studio over to bitch about her shitty professor.

“Steve,” the guy introduces himself. Blond, flawless dark skin, bright brown eyes. Vaguely familiar. “Adam, right?”

Recognition clicks in Adam’s brain, from a thousand friend requests on Facebook and the occasional glimpses he’s caught from across the street. “Steve… Cohen?” he asks, and shakes the offered hand. “LAX team.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle at the corners. He doesn’t release Adam hand. “And art major. Flattered you remembered.”

Adam looks from their clasped hands to Steve’s frankly gorgeous smile, and grins back. “Hard to forget.”

“Yeah.” Steve definitely lingers as he pulls away, and okay, sure, Adam can do this. “You’re a hard man to get alone.”

“That implies you’ve been trying,” Adam says, and doesn’t think about why he’s alone right now. This is a good thing. Cute guy interested in him just when he needs a distraction.

“For a while, yeah,” Steve admits. “You hockey bros are always in your little cliques. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without that friend of yours, Ransom.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. “You know Ransom’s hockey name but I’m Adam?”

Steve flushes, and isn’t that adorable. “I may have stalked you on Facebook. Like, a lot.”

Adam leans his hip against the paint pot and tries on his best flirtatious smile. Damn, but he wishes he was wearing his contacts instead of his glasses.

“I really hope this is leading up to something,” he says. Steve’s smile brightens.

“It is,” he confirms. For all that his face is flaming red, he’s managing to be a lot smoother than Adam usually is. “Would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow?”

Dinner. Okay. Adam was thinking maybe a coffee date, or exchanging numbers to start. Steve seems like a cool dude, but Adam hasn’t been on a dinner date since he last had a girlfriend in high school, and that was for prom.

_Dinner is a long time to spend with someone you don’t know_ , he hears Ransom intone in his head, and that makes the decision for him.

“Dinner sounds great,” he says. “Here, lemme give you my number.”

By the time Lardo comes back, Adam is getting the slightly panicked feeling that he should have started with a fucking coffee date, because for all that he likes this guy, what if all he wants to do on their date is talk about Dadaism or some shit?

He’s glad to have Lardo as a buffer, but Steve excuses himself almost as soon as she walks in. It leaves Adam reeling a little, though he supposes he might have done the same if a bunch of LAX bros wandered in while he was flirting with a cute guy.

“Larissa, hey, still working on the piece for Staz?” Steve calls to her as he leaves, and laughs when she gives him the middle finger. He has a nice laugh, too, like he’s surprised by himself. Adam likes him, even though he’s a LAX bro.

He reaches for his phone as soon as Steve is out of sight, then releases it with a sigh when he remembers he can’t text Ransom, _I HAVE A DATE_. Or Jack.

Could he even tell Jack he has a date? Even if they weren’t fighting at the moment, they’re just, what, friends with benefits. They’re not dating, or exclusive. But that doesn’t mean the thought of talking to Jack about a date he’s going on sits well in his stomach.

If he can’t tell Jack, can he tell Shitty?

Adam drops his head and moans so loudly into the paint pot it echoes.

“I’m guessing he finally asked you out,” Lardo says, totally ignoring his cavernous moaning and washing her brushes like that’s more important than his existential crisis. “And I’m guessing you said yes.”

Adam’s head shoots up. “You knew?” he squawks.

Lardo gives him an unimpressed look. “He’s been trying to weasel information out of me for weeks, so yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whines, and Lardo shrugs.

“Thought you were into Jack, but,” she gives him one of those long, thoughtful once-overs that make even Shitty go still. “Guess not.”

“I was into Jack,” Adam says, then amends. “Still am, technically. But we’re not dating.”

Or anything else, anymore.

Lardo wraps her brushes in paper towels to dry, then turns around to face him. For all that they’re both part of their five person SMH circle, she was mainly Jack and Shitty’s friend until very, very recently. Adam still doesn’t know her well enough to decipher the way she’s looking at him.

“But you are fighting,” she says. “With Ransom, too.”

Adam presses his lips together. They’re definitely not good enough friends for him to want to discuss this with her.

“Point is,” he says. “I have a date for tomorrow and I need help figuring out what to wear.”

Because Ransom picked out his clothes for parties and the few dates he went on before Jack, and Jack never cared what he was wearing as long as it came off easily, and now he doesn’t have either of them.

Lardo rolls her eyes heavenwards. “Fuck’s sake, bro, why can’t any of you dress yourselves?”

“Ransom can,” Adam defends automatically. Lardo rolls her eyes some more.

“Two words,” she says. “Salmon shorts.”

Adam points at her, triumphant. “I knew those were an abomination!” he crows, then has to sit down abruptly. His chest feels tight.

“Lardo,” he says. “I have a date.”

He has a date and he can’t bring himself to be excited about it because all he wants is to be able to talk to his friends again. Goddammit, he needs to stop being such a sad sack of shit. He’s giving himself a complex.

Adam doesn’t say any of that out loud, but Lardo picks up on something anyway. She comes over to where he’s making her work bench creak with his weight and wraps her arms around him. It’s a good hug, even though he can’t adjust to the size difference as easily as Jack does.

“Don’t worry, bro,” she says, and pats his back. She has a way of making people feel comfortable with avoidance, and Adam is very thankful. “I’ll help you find something to wear.”

He’s starting to see why Jack and Shitty like her so much.

 

* * *

 

Jack calls once, an hour before his date. Adam stares at the phone vibrating off his desk and by the time he decides to pick up, the ringing has stopped. Jack doesn’t leave a voicemail.

 

* * *

 

Steve is awkward, gorgeous, and unfailingly polite. Adam’s starting to think he has a type. He doesn’t talk about Dadaism, and doesn’t bring up the game against Yale. He cracks bad jokes and makes Adam laugh for the first time in what feels like ages, and even orders dessert. Adam’s having fun and he hasn’t thought about Ransom or Jack even once, so it’s kind of a shock when it all goes downhill.

“So Jack Zimmermann’s your team captain, right?” Steve says when there’s a lull in the conversation. Adam carefully moves his foot away from where it’s been pressed against Steve’s all night.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and hopes Steve will drop it. He doesn’t.

“Our own campus celebrity,” he continues. There’s a pause as the waitress brings over their desserts, lava cake for Adam and a mini-banana split for Steve.

“We should have shared,” Steve says indulgently, and Adam is so happy with the topic change he doesn’t even blurt out, _fuck no_. They’re both athletes; Steve should understand how rare a treat dessert can be.

“I don’t like banana split,” Adam says instead, which is a blatant lie.

They eat their desserts quietly for a while, and Adam lets Steve press their feet back together.

“So, Jack Zimmermann,” Steve starts again, and Adam nearly groans in frustration. “What’s his story?”

Adam goes still. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“You know,” Steve continues, spooning a slice of banana into his mouth. “Guy like that comes to place like Samwell, must have a story. I just heard the coke and booze version, but I figure a lot of that’s rumors. You probably know better.”

Adam stares at him, spoon halfway to his mouth. This isn’t the first time someone’s asked him about Jack, but this is the first time Adam has really thought about what it means. Jack Zimmermann’s life is first date small talk.

“I don’t, actually,” Adam says, because he doesn’t. Because Jack never told him. Because Adam never asked.

“Huh, guess we’ll never know,” Steve jokes, unperturbed. He’s entirely oblivious to Adam’s discomfort. “Anyway, do you keep up with the Swallow?”

Adam shakes his head, another lie, and lets Steve tell him about how the stupid magazine printed a totally fucked up fictional piece about one of the LAX bros being into gravedigging. His lava cake doesn’t taste that great anymore. He chews, swallows, and manages a smile. It’s not Steve’s fault that Adam went and made friends with their ‘campus celebrity’ and suddenly understands how cruel people can be without even realizing it.

Steve pays for dinner, and walks him all the way back to his dorm. He goes up on his toes to kiss Adam. It’s a nice enough kiss, long and wet, but Steve doesn’t nudge their noses together and breathe into his space until Adam closes the distance, and Steve doesn’t suck on his bottom lip until it’s swollen and red, and Steve doesn’t pick up on the tension in his body and stroke his hair until Adam melts into his arms.

By the time they pull apart, Adam already knows there won’t be a second date.

“I’ll call you,” Steve promises. Adam feels bad, but he replies with a short, “Yeah.”

He heads towards the Haus as soon as Steve is out of sight.

 

* * *

 

The Haus is silent. Everyone’s probably at the volleyball rager across campus. Adam creeps up the stairs to Jack’s room and knocks on his door.

“Jack?” he calls, then checks under the door. It’s dark inside, so he pulls out his phone and dials Jack’s number.

Jack has the most boring, generic default ringtone. In a team of fairly odd hockey bros that’s a really distinctive sound, and it’s coming from inside Jack’s room.

Adam knocks again. “Jack?” he says. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, tell me and I’ll go away.”

Nothing. Adam should probably leave, but he tries the door on a whim and it swings open. Jack’s bed is neatly made and empty, and the bathroom light is off. Adam figures he probably forgot his phone and went to the rager with Shitty. Hopefully he can hold onto this resolve till tomorrow when he does get a chance to talk to Jack.

Then he hears a hitching breath from inside the room.

“If that’s Ransom’s ghosts, you should know that the fight we had was mostly his fault and I am in no way to blame,” he says, and steps across the threshold. Jack won’t mind him checking for raccoons (and ghosts), right? “Please don’t be mad at me. I believe in you, unlike Ransom.”

It’s not raccoons (or ghosts). It’s Jack, curled into a tight little ball on the other side of the bed, back against the wall and head between his knees.

“Holy shit, Jack,” Adam says, clicking on the bedside lamp and dropping to his knees next to him. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question; Jack doesn’t answer. He’s trembling from head to toe, and when Adam tries to touch his arm he flinches so violently his head cracks against the wall.

“Whoa, hey,” Adam holds up his hands, placating. “It’s just me. Jack, are you listening?”

Jack is not listening. His eyes are screwed shut, face so pale he could fade into the chipped paint behind him. He’s not breathing.

“Shit,” Adam mutters to himself, and calls Shitty.

Shitty doesn’t pick up. Adam leaves a voicemail, “Where the fuck are you? I think Jack’s having a panic attack,” and hangs up to try Lardo, who also doesn’t pick up. What the fuck kind of rager are they at?

He looks back at Jack and can’t be sure if he’s imagining his lips turning blue. Fear trickles into his stomach. “Jack,” he tries one more time, hands hovering over his shoulder. “Hey man, you need to breathe.”

Jack doesn’t breathe. Adam’s pretty sure Jack hasn’t even registered his presence yet.

Adam does the only logical thing he can think of, and calls his mom.

“Mom,” he says, shoulders sagging in relief at just the sound of her voice. “What do you do when someone’s having a panic attack?”

His mother is the best person in the world, because she doesn’t ask a single question about who or why. She sounds exactly like she used to when Adam called her into his room to check for monsters in the closet, calm and authoritative.

“Are they hyperventilating?” she asks, all business. Adam double checks and shakes his head before remembering she can’t see him.

“No, he’s not breathing at all,” he says. “Mom, he hasn’t been breathing for a while.”

“Don’t touch him unless he says it’s alright,” she orders. Adam can hear her put down whatever she was holding to give him her full attention. “Tell him it’s okay, tell him he’s having a panic attack and that he needs to breathe.”

“I don’t think he can hear me,” Adam says, strained. He’s _scared_. Jack inhales with a gasp and holds his breath again. “Mom, do I call 911?”

“He needs to breathe first; talk to him until you can get his attention,” his mom says. “Then get him to start breathing. It might help to breathe with him. Do you remember how I showed you to count breaths for asthma attacks?”

“In one-two-three, hold one-two-three, out one-two-three,” Adam recites. He never had asthma, but a girl in his elementary school class did. His mom answered every question he had about it, even when she was annoyed because he wouldn’t stop asking and all she wanted to do after her shift at the hospital was sleep.

“That’s right, honey,” she says, pride in her voice, and Adam wants to cry at how fucking grateful he is for her. “Now get his attention and get him breathing, and hold his attention. Ask if he takes medication for his attacks. Talk to him if that helps. Once he can talk he’ll tell you what he needs if you ask.”

“Can’t I just put you on speaker so you can talk to him?” Adam asks plaintively. It would be so much easier.

“He won’t know where the voice is coming from, Adam,” she says. “You’re there, so you have to do this for your friend. Don’t leave him alone, okay? Take care of him; I know you can do it.”

“Okay,” Adam says. “Stay on the phone?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she assures him, and Adam turns his attention to Jack.

“Jack,” he says. “Look at me. It’s a panic attack. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. You need to breathe.”

“That’s it, keep talking, Adam,” his mom says in his ear. “He’ll hear you.”

It takes a few minutes, during which Jack takes a total of five breaths, but eventually his blue eyes peek out from under his lids. Another few moments, and he’s focusing _on_ Adam instead of through him.

“Adam?” It’s more a gasp than a word, but Adam’s heart stutters in his chest. He does his best to project calm and soothing.

“Hey, there you are,” he whispers. Hot tears prickle at the back of his eyes from sheer relief. “Hi Jack. I’m right here, and I need you to breathe, okay? It’s a panic attack. It will pass, but I need you to breathe for me.”

“Breathe with him,” his mom says. Jack doesn’t seem to notice the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear; he’s still looking at Adam like he’s not sure he’s real.

“I’m here. Come on, Jack, I’ll count it out,” Adam presses. “In one-two-three, hold one-two-three, out one-two-three. Breathe with me, you can do it.”

Jack releases a breath, eyes tracking Adam’s chest as he inhales and exhales with his words, but he doesn’t breathe in.

“No no, hey, you were doing so well,” Adam feels desperate. “Jack, breathe.”

“Ask him if you can touch him,” his mom instructs. Adam raises a hand, unsure how to make all six plus feet of himself nonthreatening. Jack managed to do it somehow; he’s going to have wicked muscle cramps coming out of that position.

“Can I touch you?” Adam asks cautiously.

Jack watches him with hooded eyes for a long second, then nods.

“Mom, he said yes, now what?” Adam asks, and immediately recognizes his mistake. Jack’s eyes snap away from him, darting around to look for the person Adam’s talking to. Doubt creeps into his face as he takes in the empty room, and Adam can practically feel him drift back into his head. “No, no, hey, Jack, it’s just my mom. She’s on the phone, see?”

It takes nearly ten more minutes to return Jack’s attention to him, and by then Adam is ready to start hyperventilating for him. “Jack,” he repeats like a broken record, helpless and afraid and completely out of his depth. “Hi, yeah, hey Jack, my mom’s on the phone, I’m going to touch you, okay?”

Jack tracks his hand like it’s holding a knife, but he doesn’t startle when Adam cups his knee. Instead, he carefully reaches out to place his palm flat against Adam’s chest. His skin is way too hot.

“Does that help?” Adam asks, and breathes deep so Jack’s hand rises and falls with his chest. Jack doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t snatch his hand away either, so, progress. “Okay then, in one-two-three, hold one-two-three, out one-two-three.”

It helps him, too, the deep breathing. Adam’s panic subsides as he sits with Jack, his mom a steady presence at his ear and Jack’s hand on his chest, and eventually, what feels like forever and a day later, Jack’s breaths finally sync with his.

“I think we’re good for now,” he tells his mom when all they’ve done for nearly half an hour is sit and breathe at each other, and Jack’s lips are cracked but not blue anymore. She hums in acknowledgement.

“Let me know how he is later,” she says. “Stay with him, and don’t ask questions he might not want to answer. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, sweetheart. You did wonderfully.”

“Thanks, mom; bye,” Adam says, and hangs up. Jack looks at the phone where Adam put it down on the floor. His mouth opens and closes several times before he can speak.

“I thought,” he starts, then has to stop to clear his throat. His voice is like sandpaper. “I don’t remember you picking up, when I called.”

Adam takes a second to figure out what he’s talking about, and. “Jack,” he says, feeling sick. “That was hours ago.”

Has Jack been sitting here alone for _five hours_ while Adam went on his date? Where the hell were Shitty and Lardo?

“Oh,” Jack mumbles, embarrassed. “I lost time.”

Adam gapes at him; Jack sounds so _dismissive_ about it, like it’s no big deal that he lost track of _five hours_ because he was having a _panic attack_. Adam wants to demand to know how often this happens, but he’s not going to harass Jack, not right now, anyway.

“Do you need any meds?” he asks instead. Jack shakes his head. He’s still shivering a little, forehead beaded with sweat.

“Took the last one after the game,” he says. “Didn’t get the prescription refilled yet.”

Great, more questions. Did he have a panic attack after the game? Was it because of the loss? Was it because of his dad? Was it because of _Adam?_

Jack carefully pulls his hand away, and it feels like he left a brand behind, burning in the center of Adam’s chest.

“Could you—water?” he asks. Adam casts around until he finds Jack’s water bottle perched on his desk. He scrambles up to get it and nearly steps on Jack’s phone on the way.

The screen says sixteen missed calls. One from Adam, three from Papa, and twelve from—Kent Parson, what the fuck. Adam picks it up and puts it on the desk where it’ll be safe. He doesn’t have time to think about that name and what it could mean that he called Jack twelve times in the span of five hours.

Jack drinks, and Adam uses the time to go to the bathroom and soak a washcloth in the sink. When he raises his head to the mirror he looks as freaked out as he feels, so he takes a moment to splash water over his face, lean his weight against the wall and remind himself that Jack is fine. He’s fine. He’s going to be fine. It’s okay.

“Here,” Adam says when he returns to the room, and drapes the cool wet cloth over the back of Jack’s neck. “Is that better?”

Jack looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Thanks,” he says, unsure, and sounds marginally less hoarse.

Adam desperately wants to give him a hug, but he doesn’t. “Wanna move off the floor? I can say from personal experience that the bed is way comfier.”

A week ago that would have made Jack smile. Today he just lets Adam help him up and doesn’t make a sound even when his joints audibly crack. Forget tomorrow, he must be super cramped _now_ if he’s been down there for hours.

“Did you have dinner?” Adam’s hovering, he knows, but he can’t help it. “I can get you something to eat.”

Jack shakes his head again, wrestling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. “Food won’t stay down just yet. I,” he stops. “Thank you, Holster.

It’s not for the offer of food, or the water, or the washcloth. Adam stays where he is, trapped by Jack’s eyes on him, so fucking grateful for something any decent person would have done. Then he remembers the very first time Jack kissed him in this room, and thinks he might be overestimating the number of decent people in the world.

“No problem,” he says awkwardly, then blurts, “Let’s watch a couple episodes of Golden Girls till you fall asleep, eh?”

He was hoping it would make Jack smile, but all it does is make him duck his head, shoulders hunched in on themselves like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible in his own room.

“You don’t have to stay,” Jack says softly, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “I’m okay now, if you want to go. I didn’t. I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry you had to deal with my issues.”

And there’s nothing, _nothing_ Adam can do to take back what he said. He can’t go back in time and smack himself in the face before he got around to snarling _I don’t have time for your issues_ in Jack’s face, because it wasn’t true. It _isn’t_ true. And there’s nothing he can say to make Jack believe that now.

He crouches in front of the bed and tilts his head up to meet Jack’s eyes. Some part of him must be moving on autopilot; Jack’s fingers touch his cheek and Adam leans into them instinctively.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asks. Jack pauses.

“You want to—stay,” he repeats, like he thinks he might have misheard. Adam’s heart lodges itself so tightly in his throat he thinks he might choke on it.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, and turns his head to press his lips to the center of Jack’s palm.

Jack’s breath hitches ever so softly, and when he blinks his eyes go wet. Adam can’t look at him like this, he _can’t_ or he’ll cry, so he presses his face into Jack’s thigh.

“I’m sorry too,” he whispers into the fabric of his pants. Jack doesn’t pull away.

“We’ll. We can talk tomorrow,” he says, quiet. “Can we watch Golden Girls now? I couldn’t watch it without you.”

Adam laughs shakily. “Me neither,” he says.

It’s not until they’re stretched out next to each other, leaning on the numerous pillows stacked against the headboard and Golden Girls playing at the foot of the bed, that Adam realizes that Jack is _exhausted_. He can barely hold himself upright, and after a while Adam gently guides him down to put his head on a pillow in Adam’s lap. He pulls the comforter over Jack’s shoulders and rubs his back until his breaths even out, then pauses Golden Girls to load Breaking Bad with subtitles.

Shitty bursts into the room well past midnight in only a pair of Spongebob boxers, pupils huge and teetering dangerously but alert enough to fall silent when he sees Jack sleeping, bare feet hanging off the side of the bed.

“My phone died,” he whispers at Adam, contrite. “How is he?”

Adam managed to rouse him enough to get his jeans and shoes off half an hour ago, and he seemed fine then. “Okay. He drank water, didn’t want food.”

“Yeah, he gets nauseous after bad attacks.” Shitty walks over to the bed, leans down to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek. Jack swats at him in his sleep and burrows into the pillow, irritated by Shitty’s moustache. “And tired. Did he take a pill?”

Adam shakes his head. “Said he was out.”

“Fuck, yeah, forgot about that,” Shitty brushes Jack’s hair back from his face, eyes very soft. “He say what set it off?”

“I didn’t ask,” Adam says honestly. Shitty nods.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him,” he says. “I can take over now.”

Adam frowns, because fuck that. “I’m good here,” he says. Shitty’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“If you stay, you can’t leave until he wakes up,” he says slowly. “He can’t wake up alone.”

Adam looks at him. There’s something about Jack that makes people want to wrap him up in soft blankets and protect him from the world, and because they can’t actually do that, both Shitty and Lardo have a mile-wide possessive streak that makes them step in between Jack and anything they think might hurt him.

Until now, Adam wasn’t one of those things.

“I’m good here,” he says again.

Shitty isn’t even remotely sober, but he still manages to judge Adam heavily with just the weight of his eyebrows. “The bathtub is clean. He’s going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up. Make sure he takes a hot bath.”

“I will,” Adam says, and puts every ounce of sincerity he has in those two words.

Shitty carefully tucks the comforter over Jack’s feet, and to Adam’s great chagrin, leaves both doors to the bathroom open so there’s a direct line of sight from his room to Jack’s, like he knows Adam won’t get up to close them even though his thigh is going numb. Like he knows Adam desperately wants to pass this test.

Jack keeps snoring softly in his lap, face tucked into Adam’s stomach. Adam sinks into the mountain of pillows behind him and decides to sleep before he gets casually flashed by Shitty from the other room.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY GUYS I FORGOT IT WAS SUNDAY AND THEN IT WAS TOO HOT TO FUNCTION TODAY AND REALLY THERE'S NO EXCUSE OTHER THAN ME BEING LAZY AND FORGETFUL I JUST TOTALLY FORGOT TO POST THE NEW CHAPTER

 

It’s ass-o’clock in the morning and the alarm _won’t stop ringing_. Adam throws out a hand to knock it off his desk but his arm lands on soft sheets instead, which is confusing. His bed isn’t big enough to accommodate his arm span. Adam drags his eyes open, and this. This is not his room.

The alarm shuts off. “Sorry,” Jack says from where he’s standing over the bed, in just his briefs with a toothbrush in his mouth. “Forgot to turn that off. Go back to sleep.”

Adam squints at the clock. Eight on a Saturday morning is probably sleeping in in Jack’s book, but it’s still ass-o’clock for him, so he puts an end to the thinking and drifts off again.

Next time he wakes up, there’s a hand carding absent-mindedly through his hair. Adam curls closer to the warmth at his side and snoozes comfortably for a few more minutes.

“How do you feel?” he asks eventually. Jack hums.

“Much better, thank you,” he says, unfailingly polite.

“Shitty said you should take a hot bath,” Adam mumbles, nuzzling into Jack’s thigh. He thought it would be weirder, waking up in Jack’s bed, but it’s actually pretty nice. It’s a big bed with lots of space, and he can make sure Jack’s okay with his own eyes. If he ever gets around to opening them.

“I did,” Jack replies. “How are you? I scared you last night; I’m sorry.”

Okay, so they’re going to talk. Adam needs to be fully awake for this conversation. He rolls off the bed and pads to the bathroom, and thank fuck Jack closed Shitty’s door.

“There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink,” Jack calls, which, Adam is going to put this on Alicia Zimmermann too, because there’s no fucking way Jack and Shitty had enough foresight to store an entire five-pack of toothbrushes in their bathroom that’s often missing toilet paper.

Adam brushes his teeth with Jack and Shitty’s peppermint toothpaste and splashes water over his face, then has to wipe off with the bottom of his shirt because the bathroom has no towels, either.

“First of all,” Adam says when he crawls back onto the bed. “You had a panic attack. That wasn’t your fault. I got scared because I didn’t know how to help you, and that wasn’t your fault either.”

Jack’s face hardens with resolve, and Adam feels sorry for anyone who ever tried to tell Jack Zimmermann no, because clearly he’s not very good at hearing it.

“I’m still sorry,” Jack says doggedly. “I shouldn’t have called you; we weren’t even talking.”

“I didn’t pick up,” Adam reminds him. “I only came by because I _wanted_ to talk to you.”

“And I’m sorry for last week,” Jack presses, on a roll. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean any of it, but I still said it, and I’m sorry for that.”

Adam blows out a breath, annoyed. “This isn’t gonna work if you keep ignoring me,” he says, and Jack looks chastised. “I was needling you on purpose, and I said some shitty things too.”

“You had every right to tell me how you felt,” Jack insists, like Adam’s words didn’t leave him physically reeling. Adam sits back on his heels, stomach twisting.

“No, Jack,” he says. “I had _no_ _right_ to say that shit to you. I didn’t mean it either. I was angry.”

There’s a pause as Jack just looks at him for a long moment, eyes very sad. “Holster,” he starts. “Adam. I have a lot of issues.”

Adam reaches for him instinctively. “I don’t care—”

“Listen,” Jack cuts him off, quiet but firm. “Before last night, I hadn’t had a panic attack in almost a year. I really thought, last night.” He huffs, almost silent. “I really thought, this is it, this one’s going to be the one that kills me.”

Adam’s never had a panic attack before, but he’s seen Ransom curled up with his textbooks, so sure that this is it, if he doesn’t pass this test he might as well die. Panic attacks can feel like heart attacks, he knows intellectually. It’s still a shock to his system, to hear Jack say it out loud.

“I have anxiety,” Jack continues, eyes cast down to where Adam has curled their fingers together. “And I’m an addict.”

 _So, Jack Zimmermann_ , Steve Cohen says in his head. _What’s his story?_

They used to wonder about this so often in juniors, and Adam’s looked through entire forums dedicated to speculating about _what happened to Jack Zimmermann_. He’s finally going to find out, and he realizes he doesn’t want to know at all if Jack isn’t sure.

He squeezes Jack’s hand, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Jack’s lips twist into a frown. “I OD’d on anxiety meds,” he says anyway. “That’s why I didn’t have any pills left last night. I only get one from my therapist at a time. One pill, for emergencies. I take it, I have to go to her to get another. I took it last week to stave off a panic attack after my dad told me it’s in my best interest to consider an. Alternative career path.”

Adam bites the inside of his cheek, sensing he needs to let Jack finish before interjecting. He can’t imagine what that must have been like, though, to have the man whose shadow you grew up in tell you he doesn’t think you should step into his shoes. And he pushed Jack after a conversation like that. If it were him, Adam probably would have taken it out on the nearest available wall and broken his hand.

“So,” Jack says, leaning back against the headboard. He’s moving slowly; his muscles must still be cramped as fuck. “I have anxiety, and I’m an addict. Neither of those things will ever go away. I have a temper that I’m trying very hard to learn to control, I promise. And I’m going to be in the NHL. I’m not out, and I don’t know if I ever will be. My life is always going to be newsworthy. Did you see that Deadspin article speculating about whether or not Lardo is my girlfriend?”

Adam shakes his head. Jack gives him a wan smile. “Yeah. I give it another year or two before people start commenting on Shitty hanging all over me. The only reason they haven’t already is probably because he’s a guy, and the world is very heteronormative, or at least that’s what he says. That’s what being in my life means, for anyone who wants to be my friend. You can’t pick and choose which of my issues you want to deal with. It’s all or nothing, and you deserve to be able to choose.”

Adam waits for him to go on, but it looks like he’s done. Adam shifts close to his side so he doesn’t have to look at Jack’s face.

“My dad was in the army,” he says. “Died on tour while my mom was still pregnant. She raised me alone. My family wanted me to join the army too, but my mom didn’t, and all I wanted to do was play hockey. So after I got through juniors before figuring out I wasn’t gonna go pro, I came to college and figured I’d get my degree and find some super-prestigious job at a big company or some shit. I just wanted to pay my mom back. Buy her the house she never got because she was spending all her money on me.” He stops.

“Jack, all I want to do is keep playing hockey. I’m probably gonna be a coach, y’know?”

Jack inhales sharply, no doubt remembering what exactly he said about hockey coaches. “Shit, Holtzy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s,” Adam sighs. It’s not okay. “I forgive you. It’s just, you’re not the only one with baggage, man. Yours is heavier than most people’s, but you gotta let some of us help you carry it. Shitty and Lardo get to have that; I want it too.”

Jack is quiet for so long Adam finds his phone and taps open Angry Birds just so he has something to do. He’s made it through two levels before Jack speaks again.

“My dad thinks that’s what I should do if I don’t want to give up hockey. Coach,” he says. “God knows there wouldn’t be any good players without good coaches, and maybe I will want to someday, but I’ve only ever wanted the NHL.”

“Yeah, well,” Adam says, and taps uselessly at his phone. “My mom thinks every time she brings up the amount of money she spent on me in juniors she’s just motivating me to be more successful than she is. Parents do shitty things sometimes when they mean to help.”

Jack presses their shoulders together. “I like your mom,” he says. “Did I imagine you calling her?”

Adam lifts his arm so Jack can shift closer against his side. “Nah, I called her,” he shrugs his free shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do. Shitty’s phone died.”

“Oh,” Jack frowns. “That’s why he didn’t answer.”

The way he says it makes Adam wonder what exactly Jack thinks is more important to Shitty than him, because the honest answer is probably close to nothing. For all that they’re missing the near-telepathic bond Adam and Ransom have, Shitty loves Jack with an intensity Adam doubts anyone can match.

“You can’t keep forgiving me because I have anxiety, you know,” Jack says suddenly. “I mean, I need to stop yelling at you and then apologizing for it, but. You can’t just forgive me for saying stupid shit because I had a panic attack.”

Adam gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m not going to leave you like that just because I’m mad at you.”

“You can help me and still be mad at me,” Jack turns his frown on him. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Whatever,” Adam says, his version of _fine_. “You can’t keep letting me use things you tell me against you either.”

Jack gives him a long look. “Okay,” he says, surprised like when Adam told him he was going to stay, and Adam realizes this is another thing he’s going to have to prove.

That’s okay, he decides when his stomach growls loud enough to make Jack start and knock his head into Adam’s chin so hard he bites his tongue. He can do that, he thinks, feeling his tongue throb and something in him settle as Jack laughs and laughs.

 

* * *

 

**02/09/2013**

Steve  
3:25 PM: _hi_

Steve  
4:02 PM: _i had a great time last night_

Steve  
4:03 PM: _we should do it again sometime :)_

Adam  
9:16 PM: _hey man, sorry, kinda busy this week._

 

* * *

 

**02/09/2013**

Shitty  
10:00 AM: _thanks_

Adam  
10:06 AM: _np_

 

* * *

 

**02/10/2013**

Larissa  
6:40 PM: _dinner?_

Shitty  
6:43 PM: _fuck yeah i’m starving_

Jack  
6:44 PM: _Dining hall in 15?_

Adam  
6:44 PM: _catching up on hw in library bring me foooood_

Justin  
6:45 PM: _i can do dinner_

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Ransom says, and Adam jumps where he’s sprawled over a set of couches in the corner of the library. They look at each other silently for a moment, then Adam sits up and moves his laptop from his knees to the couch.

“Hey,” he replies.

Ransom looks—well. He’s wearing the stupid salmon shorts. He shifts his feet and puts the Tupperware in his hands down on the table, and pushes it to Adam.

“You weren’t at dinner,” he says by way of an explanation. Adam opens the container and breathes in the smell of overcooked cafeteria pasta.

“Thanks, man,” he says.

They do this a lot, Adam more than Ransom, when they can’t spare the time to go to the dining hall to eat. They haven’t done it in two weeks, though, and Adam can’t help but wonder if Ransom’s been eating properly. He forgets sometimes.

Ransom gestures at the neat little space Adam’s occupying in a library full of people trying to get their last minute work in before Monday. “You mind?” he asks.

Adam shakes his head. “Go for it.”

Ransom plucks Adam’s backpack from the sofa and puts it on the carpeted floor to make room for himself. Adam takes a bite of his spaghetti and chews, because he has no fucking idea what to say and in the entire time they’ve known each other their silences have never been awkward.

“Wonder if these assholes missed us,” Ransom says at one point, when the surrounding student population has started shooting them suspicious looks. Adam snorts.

“No one’s told me to shut up in over two weeks; _I_ missed us.”

Ransom shoots him a look that’s all guilt and apology and his face wasn’t made for either. “Me too,” he says.

It’s a white flag. Adam accepts it.

“How’s your, uh, research going?” he asks, then winces, because fuck but he has no idea what Ransom’s been up to lately.

“Um,” Ransom says. “It’s okay. Coming along, I guess.”

It’s awkward again. They’ve forgotten how to talk to each other in less than a month. What the fuck. Adam taps at random keys on his laptop and accidentally deletes his entire spreadsheet.

“Fuck,” he shouts. “Fuck, shit, no no no, come on baby, don’t do this to me, where’d you go?”

“What did you do?” Ransom vaults over the table to get to Adam’s side. “Did you delete your shit again? I’ve told you a thousand fucking times _not to press random key combinations_.”

“It’s a nervous habit!” Adam shouts back. “I can’t help what my hands do when I’m nervous!”

“Aw, Holtzy, are you saying I make you nervous?” Ransom waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, and that’s it, Adam puts him in a headlock and wrestles him to the ground, and knocks over his laptop in the process.

“Shit,” he says even as Ransom pulls his hair. “Ow! No hair-pulling!”

“All’s fair in love and war, bro,” Ransom says sagely, but he still moves his hands to pull at Adam’s ears instead. Which, incidentally, does not hurt less.

“God, it was so peaceful in here while you two were fighting,” some random guy complains, gathering up his books. Ransom blinks at him.

“Do we know you?” he asks.

“No,” random guy replies, and walks off. Adam uses Ransom’s distraction to put him in another headlock.

“Say uncle,” he growls. Ransom huffs, unimpressed.

“I can fix your shit, asshole,” he says, which is definitely a trump card when Adam’s homework is due at midnight. Adam lets him go and Ransom sits down, close enough that their thighs press together. He grabs Adam’s laptop to figure out what he did wrong, and Adam picks up Ransom’s phone to go through his planner. At some point he starts humming to himself and Ransom picks it up, and before they know it they’re getting kicked out of the library, again, because some asshole called UP on them when all they were doing was _singing_.

It’s not making up as much as it’s a truce, but whatever. Adam lets Ransom shove him on the way back to their dorm and doesn’t even shove him back, because that’s how much he loves him.

 

* * *

 

**02/12/2013**

Justin  
1:20 AM: _u suck_

Adam  
1:23 AM: _u suck more_

Justin  
1:25 AM: _u suck the most_

Adam  
1:25 AM: _at least i suck good_

Justin  
1:26 AM: _low blow, bro_

Justin  
1:26 AM: _i don’t even know if i suck good_

Adam  
1:27 AM: _performance evaluations help, and practice_

Justin  
1:27 AM: _i’m gonna find a banana_

Adam  
1:28 AM: _bananas don’t give great evals_

Adam  
1:28 AM: _take if from some1 who knows_

Justin  
1:30 AM: _bro_

 

* * *

 

“I’m glad you and Ransom made up,” Jack says a few days later after practice, sprawled on his stomach and watching game tape. Adam doesn’t lift his head from where he’s using Jack’s briefs-clad butt as a pillow because he still hasn’t recovered from the most spectacular blowjob of his twenty-one years of life. Jack laughed when he said that, because he says it pretty much every time, but it’s true. Jack’s mouth is a fucking miracle in and of itself.

“We’re okay,” he says. “Good thing we’re going back to being the best D-man duo ever, right?”

Jack hits pause on his laptop and turns over, dislodging Adam’s head from its comfortable perch. “I’m glad I got my defensemen back, yeah, but that’s not what I meant.”

Adam knows what Jack meant. It’s not that it’s weird between him and Ransom, just. It’s not _not_ weird. They’re—not at 100%. Adam’s a little worried that they won’t ever be again.

Jack brushes his hair back from his forehead. “He’s not the only one you can talk to,” he reminds him. Adam is infinitely grateful to him for not pushing. He’s pretty sure Shitty and Lardo are seriously considering an intervention.

“Do you,” he hedges, and Jack looks at him patiently. “Do you ever miss Shitty even though he’s right in front of you?”

“No,” Jack says. “But I had a different best friend once, and I missed him all the time, even though he was always there.”

“Was it Kent Parson?” Adam’s mouth says without his permission and he snaps it shut, because fuck, Jack never, ever, _ever_ talks about Kent Parson.

Jack’s eyes are distant. “Yes,” he says. “It was Kent Parson.”

Adam knows the Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson story the way he knew everything else about Jack before they met. Zimmermann and Parson were best friends, and partners, and, from what Adam knows about Jack now, probably boyfriends. The rest isn’t any of his business. Adam shoved all his speculations about Jack’s life as far to the back of his brain as he could manage long ago. He turns on his side so he can look at Jack properly.

“Did you ever fix it?”

Jack shakes his head. His smile is sad. For all that Adam saw the missed calls from Kent Parson on Jack’s phone, he’s pretty sure they’re not even friends anymore, let alone best friends. He can’t imagine losing Ransom like that.

Adam leans up to kiss him, and when he pulls away Jack’s eyes are. Brighter. He lets Adam bury his face in his stomach. He smells like sex, but not like come, because he didn’t want to today.

“I think he missed me too,” Jack says eventually. “I was right there, but I think he still. I think it goes both ways.”

“Not always,” Adam muffles into Jack’s skin, and he can’t look up because it’s embarrassing, to admit that. Jack touches his back.

“Not always,” he agrees. “But probably more often than you’d think.”

“He’s busy,” Adam says, and feels like he’s been saying that for months. “I should be more understanding.”

Jack sighs softly. “I’m not really the best person to talk to about anything. Hockey robot, you know?”

“You’re not a _hockey robot_ —” Adam starts indignantly.

“ _But_ ,” Jack cuts him off. “Sometimes that’s just easier. To forget about everything else and focus on whatever my anxiety focuses on. Drowning myself in hockey means I don’t have to deal with anything else, but that’s not—healthy.”

Adam groans in frustration. “Shitty tell you that?”

Jack smiles down at him. “I have an actual therapist that my parents pay an obscene amount of money to for this kind of shit. She has a bunch of psych degrees and everything.”

“So what did your therapist tell you about how to make it healthy?” Adam asks, only a little sour.

Jack’s smile gets wider. “To let my friends help.”

Of course that’s the fucking advice. Adam rolls out of Jack’s lap and flops face-first onto the mattress and stays there. Jack gives him some time to wallow, because he can be a good bro like that.

“How do your friends help?” he finally asks, and Jack hums.

“Depends. Lardo makes me sit with her and read or watch a movie or something. Shitty hugs me a lot, and talks. You talk too, and do. Other things.” Adam raises his head, and Jack is definitely giving him a once-over, tips of his ears pink. He wiggles his ass a bit, and Jack laughs. “Point is, you guys pull me out of my head whether I want you to or not. I get annoyed or mad about it sometimes, but it helps.”

The sheets are too warm against Adam’s face. “I don’t want to push him. I don’t want to fight again.”

“He’s hurting you,” Jack points out, and Adam bristles.

“He’s not—”

“He _is_ ,” Jack says. “Double standards, Holster. My anxiety isn’t an excuse for me to treat my friends pooly.”

Jack lays down next to him, and Adam turns so they’re face to face, and something about the way Jack is looking at him makes it click in his head.

“You talked to him,” he realizes slowly. Jack doesn’t say anything. “That’s how you know how he feels, you _talked_ to him. What— _when?_ ”

“Saturday,” Jack says.

“At dinner,” Adam catches on. “Is _that_ why he came to talk to me?”

Shitty and Lardo might be planning an intervention, but Jack’s already _acted_. Adam pushes himself up to his elbows. He’s angry, he thinks. Jack is supposed to be on _his_ side, he thinks.

“I didn’t tell him to,” Jack shrugs. “I asked him how he was, and how he was dealing, and gave him some advice.”

“Did you tell him the Kent Parson story too?” Adam asks, bitter, and Jack is up like a shot.

“You don’t get to do that,” he tells Adam, eyes flashing in anger. Adam thumps his forehead against the mattress.

“Shit, I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he says, face hot and eyes prickling. He didn’t mean to say that, fuck. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

Jack’s eyes are hard. “You get one freebie,” he tells Adam. “This is it.”

“Okay,” Adam says quietly. “Thank you.”

Jack presses his lips together, and Adam can practically _see_ him reign in his temper. He’s doing what he promised, and Adam needs to fucking try harder.

“I wasn’t interfering,” Jack says after a while, voice level. “How you two handle your shit is your business, but he’s my friend too, and part of my team.”

“I know; I’m sorry, I was just—” Adam stops.

“Angry?” Jack supplies.

Adam hides his face. “Jealous,” he mutters.

Jack blinks at him, shoulders dropping. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Adam says, and he doesn’t. He’s not even sure who he’s jealous of, Jack for being able to understand Ransom, or Ransom for having Jack on his side.

Jack lays back down and wraps an arm around him. Adam goes willingly. He’s not used to being held, and Jack is apparently not the greatest hugger when the person he’s hugging is bigger than him, but being able to tuck his head under Jack’s chin is. Surprisingly nice.

“So, now I’m gonna give you some Shitty advice,” Jack says, and Adam snorts.

“Just to clarify,” he chirps. “Shitty advice as in bad advice, or advice from Shitty?”

Jack’s laugh rumbles in his chest. Adam burrows closer to better feel it.

“Friendship,” Jack says gravely. “Is a two-way street.”

It’s such a bad impression of Shitty that Adam has to laugh, and then he has to kiss Jack, because somehow he manages to be a really good person despite all the shitty stuff that’s happened to him, and Adam likes him a lot.

Like, a whole fucking lot.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you don't know what taxiing is, it's another word for marathoning. Basically, a person takes a pull from the hookah (or cigarette or joint or whatever), holds that breath, and passes the hose to the next person, who takes a pull and passes to the next person, and so on. So the hookah goes around the circle like this, and the point is to hold that breath until the hose comes back to you. Not easy to play with more than four or five people.
> 
> I'm also really sorry to say that the next update will be a week later, either next Wednesday or Thursday. So no update this Sunday. I've been struggling a lot with chapter 11 and I just finished writing it, and I would like to finish writing chapter 12 as well before the next update, so I need this bit of time to feel like I'm not falling behind. I'm really sorry guys; I hope you understand.

 

For some reason the only people who ever go out to the reading room are Jack, Shitty and Lardo, and now that Adam and Ransom have secured their dibs, Shitty invites them along. The LAX team’s having their kegster this weekend, so most of the hockey team is across the street even though they’re _supposed to be_ sworn enemies.

It’s still February in New England, but Shitty’s wearing boxers and suspenders for some reason, and Lardo is swimming in an oversized shirt that Adam suspects belongs to Jack. It must be letting all the cold air in through the bottom, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Jack and Ransom don’t seem to feel the cold at all, so Adam’s the only one who brought a jacket.

“Rans, brah,” Shitty says, meticulously rolling a second joint after he handed the first one to Lardo. “You up for a smoke or nah?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Ransom replies, raising his can of Natty Light. Shitty looks at Adam and raises his eyebrows in silent question.

“Sure,” Adam says, and puts down his bottle. He’s already three beers deep because he keeps being dumb enough to play flip cup with Lardo. Shitty lights up and passes it to him, then adjusts the coal on the hookah.

Jack lets Lardo cuddle up against his side to block the wind, and takes the joint when she offers. Adam takes a moment to wonder how it would feel to have sex while high, then dismisses the thought. Jack probably wouldn’t want to, and that’s cool.

“How do we feel about truth or drink?” Shitty asks, even though at this point nobody would say no to anything. Adam’s fairly sure all five of them would be down for another round of spin the bottle.

“We don’t got enough drinks, bro,” Lardo says, lazily drooping into Jack’s lap. Adam kinda wants to go sit on Jack’s other side. “We can do truth or taxi.”

Ransom takes a long pull from the hookah and blows it out. “I can drink if you want, but sure, truth or taxi sounds good.”

“Whatever, brah,” says Shitty. “Who wants to go first?”

“Yo, Shits,” Lardo says. “Who was your first kiss at Samwell?”

Jack chokes on his hit. Lardo pats him on the back and ignores the glare Shitty sends her way.

“You know who it was,” Shitty protests, then sighs. “Fine. It was Jack.”

Adam takes the hose from Ransom. “You need better questions, Lards; anyone could’ve guessed that.” Jack shoots him a surprised look and he shrugs. “Bro, you don’t get to where you two are without _something_ happening along the way. Rans and I figured you guys hooked up, no big deal.”

That makes Jack smile. “Didn’t get that far, actually,” he says. Ransom snorts and flaps his hand at Adam.

“Pay up, asshole.”

Dammit. Adam forgot they’d bet on this. He hesitates, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind, so he pulls out a five dollar note from his wallet.

Shitty squints at him. “What did you bet?”

Ransom kisses the note and tucks it into the front pocket of his shirt. “Just that you didn’t actually have sex.”

“Huh,” Shitty says. “A’right, my turn, motherfuckers. Ransom, did you or did you not hide all of Patsy’s equipment in Batsy’s locker?”

Adam knows the answer to this, so he tunes them out and watches Jack lean down to shotgun from Lardo. The way they move is practiced; their mouths don’t even brush. Jack looks up and catches Adam’s eye, and when he purses his lips to blow Adam knows they’re thinking the same thing.

“Lardo,” Ransom calls, breaking the moment. Adam’s cheeks feel heated, but it’s probably just the cold. “How’d you come by your mad pong skills, bro?”

“Good one,” Adam tells Ransom, reaching out to bump his fist. Lardo rolls her eyes expansively and pulls her shirt closer to herself. If Adam were more of a gentleman he would offer his jacket, but she has Jack as her personal space heater and all he’s got is his layers. He thinks for a moment, then shifts towards Ransom, aiming to leech off him instead.

Ransom lets him settle into his side and drapes an arm over his shoulders as Lardo tells them about growing up in small town Boston, which, Adam really doesn’t get Massachusetts sometimes.

“M’kay,” Lardo says. “Holster. How long you been fucking my best bro?”

It’s Adam’s turn to choke on a hit, even as Shitty whines, “I thought I was your best bro!”

For all that everyone on this roof is aware that Jack and Adam are—something—he hasn’t given any of them deets and he’s willing to bet his skates that neither has Jack. Adam catches Jack’s eye and waits for the go ahead; he’s willing to taxi a round if Jack doesn’t want him to talk.

It takes Jack a minute to realize what Adam’s waiting for, but when he does his whole face goes soft. He leans back and nods, just enough for Adam to see.

“First game of the season,” Adam says, and takes a long drag from the joint he’s sharing with Shitty. Ransom already knew this, but clearly Shitty and Lardo didn’t. Both their eyebrows go up, because that was four months ago.

Jack nudges Lardo with his shoulder. “Good way to celebrate a win,” he says sagely, and Ransom barks a laugh.

Lardo, though. Lardo is blushing.

“Wait,” Adam says. “How did _you_ celebrate the win, Lards?”

“Taxi,” Lardo says promptly, and holds her pull from the hookah. Even Shitty’s eyeing her suspiciously now.

“Fine,” he says, sharing a conspiratorial look with Adam. “Jack, what isn’t Lardo telling us?”

“Taxi,” Jack says, grinning, and holds his breath, too. It’s nothing they haven’t done before, but Adam’s eyes catch on Jack’s still chest and suddenly he’s catapulted back to when he found Jack on the floor of his room, holding his breath for minutes at a time. Ransom feels him tense.

“You good?” he asks lowly. Adam bites his lip and passes the hose without taking a pull. Ransom passes it too, and then Lardo and Jack are both breathing again.

Adam’s eyes are still on Jack when Jack looks back at him, and he must have some sort of sixth sense for when Adam is anxious, because Shitty and Lardo haven’t noticed a thing but Jack’s already opening his mouth.

“Holster,” he says. “Shitty’s a hogger; come share Lardo’s.”

“I am not a hogger,” Shitty protests, though he doesn’t actually pass the joint. Adam pulls away from Ransom and shrugs at him.

It feels a little like the first time they kissed, everyone watching them and Jack watching him as Adam moves unsteadily across the space in the middle. He almost crawls right into Jack’s lap the way Jack did into his, but instead he sits on his free side.

Jack takes a long drag from the joint as Lardo passes it to him, then turns and raises his eyebrows. Adam leans in to shotgun, and Jack’s lips seal tight over his in what is unmistakably a kiss.

Time slows down. Adam opens his mouth to inhale and thinks he hears Ransom wolf-whistle in the background, but the world is narrowed down to Jack and the way his hand curls around Adam’s neck. Adam splays his fingers over Jack’s back, and when he exhales the smoke escapes from between their mouths. It’s as sweet a kiss as all of Jack’s kisses are when he’s trying to get Adam to settle back into his skin, but in front of their friends it also feels like. Something more.

Jack’s lips glisten with saliva when he draws back, eyes almost white in the streetlight.

“Okay?” he asks. Adam nods, and kisses him again, just once.

“Well, Jack,” Ransom breaks the silence, popping the tab on another Natty Light. “I was gonna complain about you stealing my blanket, but think I’m gonna let you keep him.”

“Relationships aren’t about keeping people,” Shitty says, but he’s really too high to work himself up to a proper rant. He adds another coal to the hookah and puffs until the harshness wears out.

Adam looks around in slow motion. He’s lightheaded and heavy and so, so content, and he can’t differentiate between the high settling into his bones and the way he feels after Jack kisses him stupid.

The game continues around him. Ransom asks Jack how many hockey legends he knows, and the number is way too high. Jack asks Lardo to finally tell him if she’s dating someone, and she is, a girl from her studio, which is new information for Adam and Ransom.

Jack never stops touching him. Adam loves it, the arm around his shoulders and the hand on his thigh and their knees pressed together. He loves how Jack smiles at him when he links their fingers. Neither of them is interested in any form of PDA, but it doesn’t feel public, here among their friends.

He vaguely notices Jack doing it with Lardo too, the touching. Lardo is practically in his lap, pushed all along his side, and if she didn’t need one hand to keep smoking Adam would bet she’d wrap both arms around him. Jack loves touching and being touched, but only with very specific people, and Adam knows by now that it’s got basically nothing to do with sex. It’s a weird concept for him to wrap his head around, but whatever. He’s glad he’s part of the circle.

He loses track of time. Eventually he realizes they’ve all fallen silent, Shitty on his back, staring at the stars and talking to Ransom, Jack half-asleep on Adam’s shoulder. Lardo looks around him and catches Adam’s eye.

“You staying tonight, or are you gonna walk me back?”

Adam shakes his head, because it’s not really something they do. Last time he stayed the night there were extenuating circumstances. “Back to the dorms,” he says. “Rans, you wanna head out?”

Ransom stops explaining the female anatomy to Shitty and turns around. “Sure. Now?”

“Yeah,” Lardo says, pushing herself up. Adam shakes Jack awake as Lardo and Ransom go down Shitty’s window, then follows Jack down to his room.

Jack sits on his bed and looks up at Adam. “You leaving?” he asks softly, and it sounds a lot like _stay_.

“Yeah,” Adam says, but can’t bring himself to move just yet. Ransom knocks and pokes his head through Jack’s door.

“Holtzy, you coming?” he asks, and that breaks the spell. Jack’s lips curl into a rueful smile, and Adam bends down to kiss him, quick and chaste.

“Night,” he says when he pulls away. Jack doesn’t reply, but he’s still smiling.

 

* * *

 

Lardo swings between Adam and Ransom, one arm around each of them and their arms holding her up like a child. They’re crossing the river when she says abruptly, “So that’s why there was no second date.”

Adam and Ransom share a look over her head, confused.

“What second date?” Ransom asks. Lardo pulls herself up higher for a moment, then drops.

“With Steve,” she says.

“Steve?” Ransom repeats. Adam forgot he didn’t know about this. “Who’s Steve?”

“Guy in my art studio,” Lardo says before Adam can interject. She lets go of them to walk on her own. “Super into Holster here. They went on a date like a week ago.”

“Last Friday,” Adam specifies for Ransom, then turns back to Lardo. “What do you mean, that’s why there was no second date? There was no second date cause I wasn’t into him.”

“Last Friday, as in last Friday when you didn’t come back to our room until next afternoon?” Ransom weaves around a little, and Adam grabs his hand to make sure he doesn’t fall over. “I thought you were with Jack.”

“I was,” Adam says, feeling defensive. “I got back from the date and went to see Jack.”

He doesn’t realize how that sounds until Ransom and Lardo both look at him oddly. Adam rolls his eyes. “We didn’t have sex, and I wasn’t into Steve anyway.”

“Steve said the date went well,” Lardo informs him. “He was confused when you blew him off after because he thought it was a good date.”

“It was,” Adam says, honest. “I just didn’t want a second one.”

“You went to see Jack right after?” Ransom asks curiously. Adam shrugs.

“We’d been fighting for a while, and I wanted to stop. I stayed over and watched Breaking Bad and we talked.” In the morning, but they don’t need to know the details.

Lardo’s brows are still knitted together. “If you’ve been with Jack since October, how come you went on a date with Steve at all? Is this like, an open thing? Because it’s none of my business but I’m pretty sure Jack isn’t an open relationship person.”

“What? No,” Adam laughs. “Jack and I aren’t together like that. It’s just sex. And we’re friends.”

Ransom is drunk and Lardo is at least as high, and they still manage to share a look Adam can’t read. He’s feeling a little grumpy about that when Lardo prods, “Why didn’t you like Steve?”

“I dunno,” Adam replies, and it’s the truth. All he knows is that despite the good date and the cute guy, Steve had kissed him and Adam had wanted a different kiss. “I don’t think I’m really interested in dating right now.”

“Bro,” Ransom says seriously. “You ever think that might be cause you’re already—ow! Lardo!”

“Sorry,” Lardo says, entirely unapologetic for stepping on Ransom’s foot. “Whatevs, bros, don’t matter now. If it’s cool with you, though, Holster, I’m gonna ask Jack for deets.”

Adam snorts. “Is he gonna give you deets?”

“I should’ve asked who’s bigger for truth or taxi,” Ransom realizes. “Dammit. Missed my chance.”

Lardo waves dismissively. “Next time, bro.”

Ransom cuts his eyes towards Adam. “If there is a next time,” he says, and Lardo steps on his foot again. “What the fuck, Lards!”

“Quit being an idiot,” Lardo tells him. “And no,” she adds to Adam. “Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Go for it,” Adam says. “I don’t care, but if Jack doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to and you guys leave him alone.”

Lardo rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like _hangs around him for a couple months and thinks he knows better than me_.

Ransom nudges Adam. “You like it, though?” he asks, then flinches, but Lardo just sighs this time.

Adam decides to ignore their weirdness altogether. “Yeah, I like him,” he says, and doesn’t notice Lardo and Ransom share another look before Lardo pats him on the butt, only a little patronizing.

“Yeah, bro,” she says. “You really do.”

 

* * *

 

Midterms are brutal. Ransom disappears into the bowels of the library and Adam spends more time on the fifth floor than he ever thought he’d have to during freshman year. The only contact he has with Jack is during practice and via text, and the one time Adam pulled him into an honest to god janitor’s closet in Faber because he wanted Jack’s dick in his mouth so bad. It feels like finals week, and Adam couldn’t have guessed how fast the spring semester flies by.

 

* * *

 

“Hi, honey,” his mom sounds tinny over Skype. It’s a little funny, but it always makes him miss her actual voice. “How were midterms?”

“Ugh,” Adam says, typing out a quick, _ttyl mom called_ to Jack. “I think they went well? Who knows. We’ll find out soon anyway.”

His mom lets it go. “How’s Justin?” she asks next, and Adam gets the feeling she might have missed Ransom almost as much as he did. Ransom calls her a lot; they’re weirdly friendly. Adam’s pretty sure they spend most of their time gossiping about him, but Ransom says that’s egotistical.

“He’s good, just finished up his last midterm today. He’s sleeping.” With earplugs in, because they both know better than to expect Adam to be quiet by now.

“Oh, that means he’ll be asleep for twenty-four hours at least,” his mom laughs. How she found that out, Adam has no idea. “Has he been eating okay? Tell him he better not be skinny when I see him again, and he better be here for the next Skype call.”

“I will, mom,” Adam says dutifully. “We got dinner before he went to bed. He’s been eating, don’t worry.”

His mom scoffs, “Right, don’t worry, like I ever do anything else. I’m just waiting for the phone call about you two getting caught TPing the LAX house or falling through the frozen lake or, heaven forbid, the roof of that godforsaken Haus. How the school administration lets students live in that thing I’ll never know.”

“Mom, we don’t climb to the roof,” Adam lies, and she narrows her eyes.

“Don’t you lie to me, Adam,” she says. “The only time you successfully managed to lie to me was when I was hopped up on painkillers after my wisdom teeth removal.”

“Sorry, mom,” Adam intones. She really is the best; she actually let him keep the squirrel even though he totally used her disorientation to get permission to bring it into the house. It ruined all her curtains within the week, but that’s a different story.

“So,” she says. “Tell me about your life.”

So Adam tells her about Ransom’s midterm midnight panic and Shitty’s exploration of sexuality within Samwell’s athletic teams and Lardo’s art project that involved a lot of rubber bands and Jack’s twenty page paper on the strategic maple syrup reserve heist of last summer. In turn, she tells him about his cousin finally joining the army, which doesn’t make him feel great, but she gets a little misty-eyed that he decided not to join up himself, and that makes it a little better.

They’ve been chatting for over an hour, catching up on gossip they missed during Adam’s midterms, when his phone buzzes with a simple, _tell her hi from me_ , from Jack.

“Is that a girlfriend?” his mom asks immediately, and Adam laughs. He writes, _will do_ , and hits send.

“No, Jack says to tell you hi,” he says. His mom’s whole face lights up.

“Oh, tell him I loved the flowers,” she gushes. “He’s _such_ a sweetheart, Adam; I have to say you could have done a lot worse.”

Adam blinks at her. “What are you talking about? Do worse for what? What flowers?”

Her face does a complicated thing. “I—you don’t know? I wanted to show you when they got here, but it was during midterms and I didn’t want to bother you and then they died.”

“Mom,” Adam says, exasperated. “Flowers?”

“Jack sent me a gorgeous bouquet, a thank you for helping him during, you know,” she waves her hand absently, and Adam fills in _panic attack_. “It was beautiful, all red dahlias and violet lisianthus and so thoughtful. There was a thank you card too.”

She smiling like the sun, and she looks _so_ happy. Jack did that. He did it so easily, with a gesture he probably considers common courtesy but no one else would have thought of. Adam’s mom doesn’t get flowers very often, not from anyone except, well, Adam.

And not just any flowers. Adam remembers now, Jack curled up next to him with Game of Thrones playing on Adam’s laptop and randomly saying, _my mom loves roses, pink and peach and yellow; what kind of flowers does your mom like?_ and Adam telling him, _dahlias and lisithas or something, I can never remember the name until I see it at the store_.

Jack figured it out, and he sent Adam’s mom her favorite flowers. He might have asked Alicia Zimmermann for help, but it _was_ incredibly thoughtful, and he did it for _Adam’s_ _mom_ , and Adam is. Overwhelmed.

“Tell him I loved them, won’t you, honey?” his mom says, tucking a strand of graying blond hair behind her ear. “And give him my number and tell him to call anytime.”

Adam clears his throat. “He’s, uh, he’s a little different, from how he was when you met him.”

She looks at him patiently. “I know, Adam. He was nervous when I met him, and trying too hard. I know he’s different, but not that different, right? He’s still dear and kind, and he cares about you.”

Of course she knows everything. Adam can’t even be annoyed. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll tell him.”

 

* * *

 

He goes the moment his mom hangs up.

 

* * *

 

“You sent my mom flowers,” he says when Jack opens the door. Adam pushes past him and Jack closes it, then turns the lock.

“Um, yes?” he hedges. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“You sent my mom her favorite flowers,” Adam clarifies, standing in the middle of the room as Jack stares at him, perplexed.

“You told me what they were,” Jack says. “Should I—not have? I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

And he’s just. So, _so_ ridiculous, and Adam can’t handle it. “She was very happy,” he says. “She told me to tell you thank you, she loved them, and that I should give you her number so you can call her anytime.”

Jack’s eyes are a little alarmed, now. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want me talking to her,” he says carefully, and Adam reaches him in two long strides, shoves him into the nearest wall, and smashes their lips together. Their teeth click painfully before Adam can angle his head and then it’s perfect, perfect like fucking Jack who made his mom happy and tries so hard all the fucking time and Adam puts everything he has into this kiss, kisses him and kisses him until Jack is gasping into his mouth and trembling in his arms. Adam sucks down his neck and bites at his collarbone.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says. “Will you?”

Jack’s hands are in his hair, and he uses the grip to pull Adam’s head up. “Yeah,” he murmurs against Adam’s mouth, tongue tracing the seam of his lips. “I can do that.”

Adam peels off Jack’s shirt and jeans first, presses them together chest to thighs for a minute before letting him go to get naked himself. Jack pushes him when one of his legs is still in the air, taking off his briefs, and Adam bounces off the bed.

“Fuck,” he climbs onto the mattress properly. “Have I mentioned how much I love your bed? If we were in mine I would’ve rolled straight off the other side.”

Jack tosses the half-empty bottle of lube and a couple of condoms on the sheets. “I don’t know how you fit in that thing.”

“Diagonally,” Adam says, and catches him around the waist to pull him down into his lap. Jack’s pecs are right in front of his face and Adam licks at his nipples; they’re not very sensitive, but something about Adam doing it makes him smile anyway.

Jack pulls his head away again, and leans down to kiss him. It’s slower now, searching, like he’s looking for doubts even though Adam is pressing hard and hot into his thigh already. Adam licks into his mouth and Jack ruts against him, once, twice, then he breaks away.

“Fuck,” he says, eyes on Adam’s mouth. “Okay, you wanna come now or later?”

“With you in me,” Adam licks his lips and watches Jack’s pupils blow wide open. It’s hot as fuck.

Jack clambers off his lap. “On your back, then,” he says, and when Adam lays down he grabs a pillow to stack under Adam’s hips.

This part is familiar, Jack’s hands on his body, his mouth trailing wet down Adam’s chest and sucking at his nipples until he sighs. Lower still, tongue flicking into his belly button to make him squirm, down past his dick and along the soft insides of his thighs. Jack likes leaving marks down there, right along the crease of his hip. Adam didn’t even know he liked that until he looked down in the shower and got off to the purple bruises dotting his thighs, proof that Jack was there.

“Holster?” Jack asks, lifting his head. He’s always pretty, but he might be prettiest down there, blue eyes alert and very, very caring.

Adam touches his hair and feels him lean into his hand. “You’re really great, you know that?” he says, and is startled when Jack blushes bright red.

“I,” he starts, then stops and pours lube over his fingers. He never really believes Adam when he says shit like that. Adam wants to tell him shit like that _all the time_.

The first finger is easy; the second a little tougher but they have a system now. Jack leans over him, pressing him into the pillows and kissing him long and deep until Adam relaxes enough for a third.

“I can suck you,” Jack says when he still hasn’t relaxed after a full few minutes. Adam shakes his head.

“I want you up here,” he says, and Jack kisses him again. His free hand finds Adam’s half-hard cock and strokes carefully, fingers thrusting in on every twist of his wrist. He’s using almost no tongue at all, just a swipe to get Adam’s lips wet before he pulls one of them between his teeth, sucks and nibbles and repeats with the other. By the time he finally lets up Adam’s mouth is swollen and wonderfully sore, and Jack’s fingers have worked him loose.

Adam rubs at Jack’s red lips and licks at his jaw. “Good thing I like kissing, huh?” he says just as Jack crooks his fingers, and Adam’s back arches off the bed.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he pants, wet into Jack’s neck. “Jack.”

“I got you,” Jack says even as he rubs the pads of his fingers against Adam’s prostate, again and again until Adam clutches at his shoulders and moans shamelessly, hips thrusting into Jack’s hand. Jack reaches for his cock and Adam manages to grab his wrist.

“No,” he tells Jack, chest heaving. “Fuck no. You’re not making me come before you get inside me. Not happening.”

Jack laughs at him a little, but he subsides. The rubbing turns into actual fucking, three thick fingers pumping in and out of him and only sometimes brushing at his prostate.

“Can we get to the main event already?” he huffs, and Jack laughs some more. He pulls out his fingers.

“It’s easier on your stomach, to start,” he says, so Adam turns over. He hears the condom packet crinkle and tear, and the slick sound of Jack stroking himself. Adam thinks he wants to do that, next time, roll the condom down Jack’s dick and slick him up.

“Breathe, Holster,” Jack says, and then there’s a blunt pressure against his hole, and it’s nothing like fingers. It hurts a little, but what makes Adam’s eyes water is the _pressure_. Jack is a good size, but he feels _huge_ inside him, and fuck, that’s the head, that’s just the head that popped into him and there’s so much more to go.

He only realizes he’s keening low in his throat when Jack just. Stops. He holds himself half inside Adam and holds absolutely still and says, “Tell me when to move, or to pull out.”

Except Adam doesn’t want him to pull out, because there’s someone _inside_ him, _Jack_ is inside him and it doesn’t feel great but it’s. Holy shit. Adam breathes, in through his nose and out through his mouth and Jack strokes his hands down his sides and that helps, of course it does.

“Okay, go,” Adam says, and Jack slides further inside him. Pulls out a little, slides back deeper. Pulls out a little, slides back deeper. It’s a pattern Adam recognizes from having done it, but now it’s being done _to_ him and is this how it always feels? Like something inside him is about to burst?

Jack’s hips meet his ass. He’s all the way inside, and his weight drapes over Adam like the best kind of security blanket. It’s a lot. It’s so much Adam isn’t sure he doesn’t want Jack to pull out anymore, but this. Jack’s chest against his back, Jack’s mouth on the back of his neck, Jack’s arms around him. This makes it easier.

“Hurt?” Jack asks, voice tight with the effort of holding still. Adam shakes his head, and Jack starts to move. Little thrusts that are more grinding than anything else, but Adam doesn’t want Jack to go very far, and it’s getting better.

It takes some time, but eventually Adam’s dick starts filling up again. The pressure has lessened but the overwhelming knowledge of another person inside him is still there, coiled in his chest where Jack’s hand is splayed over his heart. He didn’t know it was possible to be so acutely aware of someone else; he can feel Jack’s body almost better than his own. He barely notices when he starts to work his hips back onto Jack’s cock, and then Jack stacks another couple pillows under him, hitches him up higher, and when he pushes back inside Adam’s body lights up from the inside out.

It’s _nothing_ like fingers. Jack’s dick is blunt and hard and with every thrust Adam moans louder, fingers scrabbling for a grip on the sheets and knees sliding on the mattress. Jack’s hands are on his hips, holding him in place as he goes to fucking town on Adam’s ass and Adam wants to see him. He wants to see him he wants to kiss him he wants Jack to lay back down on top of him and never ever leave.

“Jack,” Adam hears himself say. “I need—I need. _Please_.”

Somehow Jack knows what he wants, even though he doesn’t. Jack reaches under Adam’s hips and finds his cock, and Adam _sobs_ when Jack grinds inside him and strokes him all at once. It’s too much and not enough and he _can’t_.

His orgasm starts at his dick and spreads to his fingertips and toes, hot and devastating and nothing he’s ever felt before. He might have blacked out for a few seconds; he doesn’t feel Jack pull out. There’s a distant awareness of Jack easing him onto the bed before jerking off, but he doesn’t really know. He’s glad that Jack is holding his hand, because otherwise he’s sure he’d float away.

Jack touches his hair, and Adam turns his face up blindly for a kiss. Jack’s lips are soft. His hand isn’t soft; it’s hard and calloused. Adam curls close to Jack’s chest and thinks he can feel the individual hairs on his body. It’s too coarse against his oversensitive skin but he stays there, where Jack can hold him to the ground.

At some point Jack makes him drink water, and take out his contacts to put them in the case he brought in his jeans pocket along with his glasses. The world was already hazy, now it’s blurry too, and all Adam can do is feel. It’s scary. Everything is too much. Everything except Jack.

“Don’t let go,” he whispers, head tucked under Jack’s chin where he feels safe. Jack presses his nose into Adam’s hair and tightens his arms.

“I won’t,” he promises. Adam believes him.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two important notes at the end of the chapter!

 

There’s a hand in his hair. It feels—good. It feels like. Jack. Jack is stroking his hair, because Adam fell asleep in his bed last night. He didn’t ask to stay; Jack kept him. Spread him out over his sheets and pulled him into his arms and held him until he drifted off.

Adam breathes in and feels the naked chest under his cheek rise and fall. Jack smells like stale sex and sweat. His skin is a little sticky. He’s awake, but he hasn’t gotten up to shower because he’s still holding Adam, one arm around his back, their legs tangled together. Adam rubs his face into the hair on Jack’s chest and kisses the nipple closest to his mouth. Jack laughs softly above him, and it’s the best fucking sound to wake up to.

“Hi,” he says. Adam tilts his face up for a kiss. Jack gives it to him, close-mouthed, and Adam makes a noise of protest. “Morning breath; you don’t want that.”

Adam pinches his nipple in retaliation, and Jack laughs again. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and leans down to kiss him again, this time warm and wet. His mouth tastes foul, and Adam tells him so. Jack’s lips curve against his; Adam loves making him smile.

“So does yours,” Jack says indulgently. “Are you going to open your eyes?”

Adam hums and puts his head back down on Jack’s chest. “What’s the point? Can’t see,” he mumbles, and realizes his voice is hoarse. He may have screamed last night. Fuck, the LAX bros probably heard him across the street.

“You’re nearsighted, right?” Jack asks inanely. Adam doesn’t reply, because Jack knows, and the hand in his hair tightens, pulling his head up. If Adam weren’t too lazy to get hard right now that definitely would’ve done it. As it is, he moans softly, and Jack gives him another kiss in reward. He cradles Adam’s head between his large palms and draws him close until they’re breathing each other’s air.

“Adam,” he says, and Adam has to look then, to see the way Jack’s lips shape his name.

Their faces are close enough that Jack’s features are startlingly clear. It’s frighteningly easy to feel like he’s the only person in the world when he’s the only thing Adam can see. His eyes are a bright, sweet gray, and when he nudges their noses together Adam dips down to kiss him.

Jack shivers under him, a barely perceptible thing, but Adam loves knowing he can do that. Jack’s hands slide down his bare back, pausing to cup his ass.

Adam pulls away, squirming. “Little sore,” he admits, embarrassed. God, he was embarrassing last night. Jack did all the work; all he did was lay there and moan shamelessly.

Jack, though, Jack smiles at him, so, so soft. “It’ll wear off,” he says. “Was it too much?”

The easy answer is yes, but that’s not what Jack’s asking. Adam scrapes his lips over the stubble on his jaw and wonders if he’ll have wicked beard burn. It’s a thrilling thought.

“No,” he says. They’re so close that when Adam darts his tongue out to lick his lips he licks Jack’s, too. “It was. Good.”

Jack is still smiling. He looks happy. Adam wants him to look like this always.

“Good,” Jack says. “Do you want your glasses?”

“No,” Adam replies, and swings his leg over Jack’s hips. “I want to kiss you.”

“We could still do that,” Jack groans when Adam sucks on a spot behind his ear and settles his full weight over him. “We could kiss with you wearing your glasses.”

Adam leans up to look at him, which doesn’t help because the moment their faces are a foot apart Jack’s features go blurry. At least he can tell where Jack is looking, and it’s not at his mouth.

“Well,” he says, delighting in watching color seep into the blurry planes that are Jack’s cheekbones. “Did not know that. You like my glasses?”

Jack stubbornly doesn’t look away, even though he must know how little Adam can see. “I like _you_ in your glasses,” he corrects. “You look, uh. I like it.”

“Really?” Adam asks, tilting his head back to let Jack suck down his neck. “I always thought I looked like a dweeb.”

“You do not look like a dweeb,” Jack says, and he sounds so affronted Adam has to laugh. He’s still laughing when Jack presses their mouths together, and he laughs into the kiss until Jack starts laughing too. Adam smooths his hands down Jack’s abs to where he’s getting hard.

“Want me to _jack_ you off?” he asks, and laughs again when Jack swats his ass.

“Shut up,” Jack says. “I don’t want a handjob. I just want to kiss you.”

Adam groans softly when Jack’s fingers dip into the crack of his ass, and he ruts up against him, just a little. “Me too,” he says, and stills his hips. Jack touches his back, then his neck, then his lips. It’s something he does when he needs to feel grounded, and Adam doesn’t understand why he needs it at all when Adam’s the one ready to float away.

This is perfect, their little bubble right here. Adam is hungry and he needs to pee, but he doesn’t want to move off Jack, and Jack doesn’t seem inclined to let him go. Adam could stay here forever.

This is perfect, and everything Adam wants, so he’s not sure why there’s something coiling in his stomach that feels a lot like fear.

“Breakfast?” Jack asks eventually, when they’ve kissed each other raw and he’s flipped them over so Adam is under him, naked and hard and unwilling to do much about it. Adam looks up at the vaguely defined blob that is Jack’s face making his chest grow warm in a way that’s nothing, _nothing_ like he’s felt before, and he suddenly gets. Scared.

He was afraid last night, too. For all that it was—good—it was frightening. It was a lot. It’s going to keep being a lot. Jack pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles down at him and Adam knows this is it. This is the point of no return.

He’s not ready to cross it.

“Adam?” Jack asks, instantly alert to the way the pulse in Adam’s wrist spikes under his hand. Adam bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and wrenches his hand out of Jack’s grip, and Jack lets go immediately. Adam doesn’t have to push him off; Jack eases away on his own, and it’s—better—that Adam can’t see his face, his concerned, careful eyes. Jack can’t make it better this time, not when he’s the problem.

He sits up and reaches for his glasses, and Jack gets to them first because Adam doesn’t really know where they are, because this isn’t his room. He’s only stayed here twice and the first time he left his contacts in all night. Adam fumbles with his glasses like he hasn’t since he got them nearly seven years ago. Jack touches his fingers, takes the glasses from him to unfold them, then pushes them over his ears.

He sees Jack’s hands clearly first, hovering on either side of Adam’s face, like Jack wants to hold him but isn’t sure he should. “Holster,” he says, and Adam misses the sound of his name in Jack’s mouth so sharply it terrifies him a little.

“I’m okay,” he lies, and scrambles off the bed. His feet get caught in the tangled sheets and he nearly crashes to the floor. “Think I’m gonna head back, actually. Brush my teeth, shower.”

It’s an awful, awful excuse. Jack’s frown grows deeper, but he doesn’t reach for Adam again.

“There are toothbrushes—” he starts, and Adam cuts him off.

“In the bathroom, I know,” he says. “I’m just. Shower, you know?”

Jack doesn’t believe him. Adam can tell that Jack doesn’t believe him, and that makes it worse, because Jack doesn’t believe him but he lets it go anyway. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he understands that Adam needs to get away, and he’s letting him go without a fuss.

“Okay,” he says quietly. Adam can practically _see_ him cycle through the past few minutes in his head, and it frightens him even more, that he knows Jack well enough to be able to tell when he’s trying to figure out what he did wrong.

 _Nothing_ , Adam wants to tell him. _You did nothing wrong_. But that’s not really true. Jack _is_ responsible for these feelings and this fear, even if he didn’t mean to cause them and it’s not his fault Adam isn’t ready for them.

“I’ll see you later,” Adam says, and wrestles with the button of his jeans. His fingertips are numb. Jack watches him for a while, then reaches over to do up the button and fly himself. Adam is helpless to do anything but let him. Jack’s face hovers above his crotch and Adam can’t even think of a blowjob; he just wants to wrap his arms around Jack’s head and. Hold him.

Adam doesn’t hold him.

Adam pulls away from Jack as soon as he’s done instead, tugs his shirt over his head, and grabs the contact case from Jack’s desk. He instinctively leans in to kiss Jack goodbye and realizes as he does it that this is a thing, that this has always been a thing, he kisses Jack goodbye before he leaves and Jack kisses him back and it’s—it’s fucking insane. It’s too much. It has always been too much, right from the start, and Adam never fucking _noticed_ , and he doesn’t.

He’s not sure he wants this.

Adam jerks away. Jack’s neck was craned up to meet Adam’s mouth; his eyes open slowly when he doesn’t get his kiss. He lowers his head and blinks in confusion, all naked skin and sex-crazed hair and kiss-swollen lips.

Adam closes his mouth, and the door behind him when he leaves.

 

* * *

 

Running usually clears his head, but it’s snowing outside and the tracks aren’t ploughed. He skids over another snowbank and gives up. Ransom was still asleep when he went back to the dorm earlier to grab his running gear, but he’s awake now, freshly showered and shimmying along to Gaga while he does his squats.

“Hey,” he says when he sees Adam. “Good run?”

Adam shakes his head. “Tracks are all snowy,” he says, and grabs his towel.

When he comes out of the shower, pants and shirt in hand and towel around his waist, Ransom whistles.

“Bro,” he says, approving. “Had a good night?”

Adam blinks at him, confused, then looks down at himself. “What?” he adjusts his glasses, but he still doesn’t see anything. Little red spots from stubble burn as predicted, but that’s about it.

“Your back,” Ransom says. “Jack got nippy.”

Oh. Shit, yeah, Adam forgot about that, because he barely even noticed when it happened, Jack sucking bruises onto his shoulders and biting at the muscles of his back because Adam fucking loved it. He must have left marks. Adam wants to see them.

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally even though his cheeks are heating up, and tosses his dirty clothes in the corner to join the growing pile of smelly laundry. He ducks his head into the closet for a fresh pair of briefs. When he pulls them on, Ransom’s staring at him.

“ _What?_ ” he bites, and realizes his mistake a second later. Ransom’s eyes are narrowed, worried.

“Did something happen?” he asks. Adam pulls on a green sweater that probably belonged to Ransom at some point, and shrugs.

“No,” he says. Pants, then bed. He falls face-first on the mattress and bounces a little. He really is too big for a stupid twin.

“Got too used to Jack’s bed?” Ransom asks, innocent like he isn’t baiting Adam.

“No,” Adam says again, and hopes he’ll drop it, but of course he won’t, because Adam can’t lie to Ransom for shit and now Ransom wants to know what’s so wrong that he’s willing to lie about it.

“Holtzy,” Ransom says, and fuck, that lie also gave away what this is about. “What’s your deal with Jack?”

Adam loves Ransom. Adam loves Ransom more than anything in the world except his mom, and he probably always will, no matter how long they fight or don’t talk to each other.

Adam loves Ransom, but he needs to back off.

“I don’t have a deal with Jack,” Adam says, and that’s mistake number two. All he needed to do was say he doesn’t want to talk about it and Ransom would’ve left him alone, but Ransom’s not the only one doing the baiting.

“Yeah?” Ransom pushes, just as predicted. “Because you just got back from spending the night at his place, and you’re acting real fucking weird, bro.”

“We fucked, I fell asleep,” Adam tells him, and it feels—cheap—to put it like that. “That’s about it.”

Ransom looks at him, and Adam sees the moment it clicks in his head. “Dude,” he says, and Adam wants to scream. “What are you doing with him?”

“Fucking him,” Adam says, and can’t quite hide his wince. Ransom raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Fucking him,” he repeats. “You spend the night at his place, you hang out with him all the time. You watch your favorite shows with him and go for coffee at Annie’s with him, and you’re just fucking him?”

“We’re friends,” Adam grits out.

“You don’t look at anyone else the way you look at him,” Ransom says, merciless. He’s very good at saying things Adam doesn’t want to hear. “You’re _dating_ him, Holster, and if all you want to do is fuck him maybe you need to send yourself that memo.”

Adam shoots to his feet, and one look at Ransom’s face tells him he knows he pushed too far. Three weeks ago it might not have mattered, but _this_ Ransom doesn’t get to tell him that.

“What do you know?” Adam asks lowly. “What do you know, exactly, about my life? Or my relationship with Jack?”

“Nothing,” Ransom admits, unsure how to backtrack. “Just that you wanted to get him out of your system. Did you?”

Adam laughs. Yeah, fuck, did he ever. “Cute,” he says. “That’s real fucking cute, that you’re asking now. I thought you knew? I mean, we live together, and we’re best friends. Shouldn’t you know?”

Ransom’s eyes are cautious, and Adam suddenly, viscerally _misses_ him. He wants his best friend back, not. Not this.

“Sorry, Rans,” he adds, because he can’t stop himself. “You don’t get to make judgments based on fucking nothing when you haven’t seen me more than two hours a day since before fucking _Yale_. You don’t get to do that when we’ve haven’t been talking—”

“We have been—” Ransom starts.

“We _haven’t_ ,” Adam cuts him off, vicious. “Hey, Rans, how’s the research coming? Yo, wanna get dinner? Hey, heading over to the Haus, see you later. Dick jokes over text, that sound like fucking _conversation_ to you? You don’t get to open the first real conversation we’ve had in three weeks by judging my life choices, _again_ , when I haven’t heard a fucking _apology_ yet.”

Ransom bites his lip, flushing so hard it shows on his dark skin. “I wasn’t judging you,” he says, eyes very wide. “Fuck, Adam, I’m fucking _sorry_ , okay? I shouldn’t have said that shit.”

“You meant it,” Adam spits. They’re finally having this talk. Adam didn’t get to yell last time. “You meant what you said, and I honestly don’t know what’s fucking worse, buddy. All I know is that you can’t keep treating me like shit and still call yourself my best friend. That’s not how this works.”

Ransom draws himself up to his full height. It’s only then that Adam realizes they’re both standing, nose to nose and hands clenched into fists like they’re gonna throw down right here in their dorm room. Adam uncurls his fingers and takes a deep breath, but Ransom’s just getting started.

“You know how it _doesn’t_ work?” he demands, equally pissed. “When you use this person you’re _totally not dating_ to avoid me for three weeks and then blame me for not talking to you. You don’t even give me a chance to apologize and it’s _my_ fault?”

“I’m not using Jack to hide from you,” Adam snaps, because it’s not fucking true.

“No?” Ransom says sarcastically. “You sure you’re not just using him?”

Adam’s mind whites out with rage.

“Fuck you,” he breathes when he can speak again. He’s so angry his chest hurts. “Fuck. You. I’m not. I _wouldn’t_. You don’t get to talk about him like that. He’s not a toy I’m going to throw away when I’m done with him, he’s.”

He’s _important_ , but Adam can’t bring himself to open his mouth and say it. Ransom spreads his hands.

“Got nothing?” he asks, challenging, and it’s a fucking miracle Adam doesn’t punch him in the face.

“It’s none of your business,” he finally says, consciously pulling his shoulders down from his ears. “I’m allowed to have other friends, Justin.”

“Sure,” Ransom agrees, so condescending that Adam’s fingers curl into fists all over again “Just like I’m allowed to have other friends. Except you keep using your _other friends_ to run away from everything and if you’d just, fuck, hold still for two minutes maybe I could tell you that I’m _sorry_ and that I want to fix things if you’ll fucking tell me how!”

It’s the wrong thing to focus on. Adam knows it’s the wrong thing to focus on, but he still opens his stupid mouth and says it because he _doesn’t_ know how to fix things with Ransom and this is just. Easier.

“I don’t run away from everything,” he says, and realizes as he says it that it’s a lie.

“Yeah?” Ransom presses, merciless. “You’re not running from Jack right now? And you’re not going to run from this conversation again?”

“Fuck you,” Adam says one more time, and feels like a fucking coward. Ransom looks at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, and Adam—he’s still sore. He’s still sore from where Jack was inside him last night and still warm from how Jack held him this morning and Ransom is fucking _right_ , is the thing.

Adam backs away from him. His jacket is on the back of his desk chair, and when he grabs it to pull it on Ransom catches his sleeve.

“Adam,” he says. Just that, and Adam’s legs turn to lead.

He shakes his head and drags his feet to the door. Ransom lets him go.

“Yeah,” he says, resigned. “You just keep making sure you’re the one who gets to walk away, asshole. That’s not running at _all_.”

 

* * *

 

Adam sits in the library because it’s the only other place that’s warm and thinks about what a fucking idiot he is, because that’s what he is, a fucking idiot. He can’t fight with Jack and Ransom separately, he has to fight with them at the same time so his only sanctuary is Lardo’s studio, and he can’t even hang out there anymore because he might run into Steve.

Who he also hasn’t talked to.

Fuck, he _is_ a coward.

 

* * *

 

There’s a house crawl that night in honor of classes being cancelled, so Adam goes and gets sloshed off jungle juice and vodka, because it’s that kind of a day. (He gets sloshed so he won’t be tempted to go back to Jack, or to find Ransom, because he isn’t ready for either.) Patsy and Batsy stick to his side through the first three apartments, but they get distracted by pong at the fourth and then it’s just Adam at the fifth. It’s a tennis apartment so the music is great and the drinks are better, and he dances with a couple of the volleyball girls and then the alternate captain of the tennis team.

He doesn’t really notice when the dancing turns to grinding, and his body is slow and uncoordinated when she leads him through a door he thought was the bathroom, but turns out to be a bedroom instead. He’s still looking around, disoriented, when she kisses him.

She tastes sweet and waxy, like lipstick. Adam jerks away.

“Whoa, hey,” he says, dimly aware that his words are slurring. “Hang on.”

Her name’s—Donna? Donna. She’s a senior. She’s drunk too, but maybe not as much as him.

“What’s up?” she asks.

She’s pretty, and nice. He said wait, so she’s waiting on him. Adam thinks about it. She’s here, and she’s willing, and him and Jack are just friends, he told Ransom. He could, but. He doesn’t want to.

He may be a coward, but the least he can do is admit to himself what he wants, and it’s not her, or Steve, or anyone else on this stupid campus. Adam is drunk and confused and horny and all he wants to do is crawl into Jack’s lap and sleep it off.

“Listen,” he says. “You’re cool and all, but I gotta stop running away, y’know?”

Donna sits down on her bed, nodding like he made a modicum of sense. “You got someone else?” she asks, and Adam doesn’t get it; how does everybody know before he does?

“Maybe,” he says. “But I should talk about it first.”

Donna squints at him. “It’s not Steve from the LAX team, is it? Cause I’m pretty sure that ship’s sailed, bro.”

“The fuck,” Adam tells her, and sits on her carpeted floor before he falls over. “How do you know about that?”

“Same way everyone knows Sheila asked out your captain and got turned down, yo,” she says, and pulls out two bottles of water from her mini-fridge. “It’s a small campus. You never called him back.”

“Yeah,” Adam says, twisting the cap off the bottle. “Wasn’t really my type.”

“Cause of your mystery person?” she grins, waggling her eyebrows like they’re sharing some raunchy secret. Drunk people are easy to talk to. Adam takes a long pull from his bottle and shrugs.

“Sorta, yeah,” he replies. “I’ve been dumb about it though.”

“Eh,” she says, and flaps her hand. “Boys are dumb.”

Adam’s got nothing. “We really are,” he agrees, and they finish drinking their water in silence. Donna kisses him again at the door, and that just hardens his resolve, because she doesn’t kiss anything like Jack.

Jack who he wants to kiss. Jack who he wants to date. Adam feels almost giddy, because he remembers the way Jack looked at him that morning and he knows, he _knows_ Jack wants that too.

“Thanks,” he says, and Donna grins at him.

“How ‘bout you do me a favor, since you couldn’t get it up for me,” she says, leaning her hip against the doorframe. “Give Patrick my number.”

Adam makes a face. “How can you be into Patsy _and_ me? That’s just weird.”

“You’re tall cute and stacked, he’s tall cute and stacked,” she rolls her eyes. “What’s not to get?”

“Ugh,” says Adam, and she waves him off, laughing.

Tomorrow. He’ll tell Jack tomorrow, he thinks, trudging through the snow against the wind. He can be brave, just this once. They’ll talk it out and Adam will take him out for coffee at Annie’s and he won’t let Jack pay and it’s going to be their first date. Adam will kiss him and leave him at the door to his room because that’s what you do after a first date. And then Jack will be his fucking boyfriend and fuck, he feels thirteen years old, he wants to call his mom and tell her all about his new crush. He’s got butterflies, for fuck’s sake.

Adam makes it halfway to his dorm when he sees someone standing by the riverbank. He knows that figure, even covered by a thick coat and a thin layer of snow.

“Jack?” he calls, and Jack startles, because Adam’s voice is loud and it carries. “What’re you doing out here?”

There’s something weird about the way Jack looks at him. Adam isn’t sober enough to parse the many different expressions of Jack Zimmermann, but he thinks it’s more because Jack _isn’t_ wearing an expression right now. His face is very—blank.

“Holster,” he says, and even his voice is flat. Adam raises his eyebrows, slipping down a snowbank to land next to him. Jack raises a hand like he wants to steady him, but doesn’t. Adam is disappointed.

“Why’re you out here?” he asks. Jack is so _close_. Adam wants to wrap his arms around him. It’s cold and Jack is always, always warm. “Were you at the house crawl?”

“No,” Jack says. “Not really.”

Adam grins at him, fond and a little in awe of how beautiful he looks, surrounded by all the untouched snow, cheeks flushed and tip of his nose bright red. It feels like the perfect place to blurt out everything he wants to say, but no. Tomorrow. When he’s sober. So Jack knows he means it.

Adam’s gotten two kisses today he wasn’t at all into, though, and Jack’s lips are really, really pretty. He leans in to catch them, and Jack ducks away.

“Holster,” he says, strained. Adam backs off. Shit, he’s drunk.

“Sorry!” he squawks. Thank fuck there isn’t anyone around and the storm’s gotten bad enough that it’s hard to see, but they’re still out in the open.

Jack is still looking at him, face shuttered like it was after Yale. Adam’s drunk giddiness starts to fade away. Something’s wrong.

“Holster,” Jack says again. “I don’t think we should do this.”

“Yeah, no,” Adam agrees instantly, but the awful feeling growing in the pit of his stomach doesn’t go away. “I didn’t notice, man, I’m sorry. And if it’s cause I’m drunk, yeah, you’re right. Won’t try that again.”

“No,” Jack says. His eyes are cool and calm, and he’s looking at Adam like he’s a fucking lamppost or some shit. “I don’t think we should do this. Anymore.”

He waves a hand in the space between them. Adam stares at him, uncomprehending. The wind is very loud in his ears.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asks, tongue heavy in his mouth.

Jack’s breath stutters, coming out in white puffs. “We’re friends, right? We shouldn’t keep doing this. Better we quit now, before it gets complicated, you know? I want to stay your friend. There’s no need for it to get messy.”

“Messy,” Adam parrots again, blinking snow out of his eyes. He shoves his hands under his armpits to warm them and it doesn’t help much.

“Messy,” Jack agrees. His mouth is a thin line, unwavering. Everything in Adam’s head is screaming _something is wrong_ , it hasn’t even been a whole day what _happened_ , but all he can think of is that he’s _glad_ he didn’t go tell him how he felt before. Before.

“Okay,” Adam says after a while, when it becomes obvious Jack is waiting for a reply. His mouth trembles, just a little, and he clamps his jaws together. There’s no fucking way he’s going to cry in front of Jack when he’s breaking up with him.

Jack looks at him for a long time. His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to. Something. Adam doesn’t fucking know. All he knows is that Jack is ending this. Jack wants to be his friend. Just his friend.

“Okay,” Jack says finally, still watching Adam like he’s waiting for, what?

Whatever it is, Adam can’t give it to him, so they stand in the fucking blizzard staring at each other until Jack gives up and nods.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says in the Captain voice he hasn’t used on Adam in weeks. There’s snow caught in his eyelashes.

For the first time since they met, it’s Jack who walks away. For the first time since they met, it’s Adam left staring at his back, watching him go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two important things:
> 
> 1\. You may have noticed that this has turned into a series. The main story will end on chapter 12 of this fic, so no worries about a WIP, but turns out I'm not ready to let go of this verse at _all_. I didn't get to write a lot of things because they didn't fit into the plot (like more porn; Holster is going to fuck Jack against a sturdier wall than the Haus walls at some point, and Ransom and Jack need to spend Canada Day together, and omg so many other things), so the series will be a continuation of this verse, with future fics, codas, and maybe a prequel or two. I'm open to prompts on [my tumblr](http://foxfireflamequeen.tumblr.com/ask) if there's anything in particular that you want to see in this verse!
> 
> 2\. I really, really want a playlist for this fic, you guys. I want a playlist _so badly_ , but I don't listen to a lot of music so I have no idea where to even begin; all I know is that Holster likes the same kind of music as Bitty and Jack likes old rock and country, and that doesn't tell me anything at all. So if someone would be willing to make me a playlist for this fic, I can pay you back by writing you JackHoltz prompts in this verse? I would appreciate it so much.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Ransom finds him, after. Ransom finds him curled up in his bed, staring at the wall and willing himself not to cry.

“Holtzy?” he asks, and Adam squeezes his eyes shut.

“Jack broke up with me,” he says. Ransom sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Shove over,” he says. He climbs into the space between Adam’s back and the edge of the mattress and spoons up behind him. Their knees slot together, and he wraps an arm around Adam’s chest to pull him close.

Ransom smells like Old Spice and alcohol. His chest isn’t terribly broad and when he nestles close he presses his forehead to the back of Adam’s neck instead of shifting up the pillow to rest his chin on top of Adam’s hair. He’s warm and solid and feels nothing like Jack, and Adam is so, so grateful for it.

“I love you,” Ransom says, and Adam links their fingers together over his chest.

“Love you too,” he whispers to the wall.

 

* * *

 

He thought it would be better in the morning, but it isn’t. His alarm rings early enough for him to go on a run, but Adam turns it off and sleeps in. Ransom slips out of bed at some point to shower and get breakfast, and eventually the smell of the sausages he brought back lures Adam out of bed and into the shower, because Ransom won’t hand over the Tupperware until he’s clean.

Adam eats, and opens his books to study, and stares at his laptop while it streams from freetv. Ransom stays close to his side the whole time, legs thrown over his lap or thighs pressed together or back against his shoulder while he types his class notes into a Google doc to make them legible. Their phones buzz with texts every now and then, but they both ignore them.

It’s quiet. Quieter than it usually is between them, but comfortable too. It’s—better, than it’s been in weeks. Ransom doesn’t ask questions, and Modern Family manages to draw a laugh or two out of Adam.

After a couple episodes he closes out of a few of his random tabs, and accidentally bookmarks one of them. When he goes to remove it from Chrome, the Golden Girls bookmark on freetv stares back at him. They were on season six. Almost at the end.

“I was going to stop running away,” Adam says, suddenly enough that Ransom jumps. Claire and Phil are arguing in the background and they’ve gotten annoying, so Adam pulls off his headphones.

“You were right,” he tells Ransom. “So I was going to stop.”

“Did you tell him?” Ransom asks, back against Adam’s shoulder so they don’t have to face each other; like he knows Adam can’t have this conversation and look at him at the same time.

“No,” Adam says. “He talked to me first.”

Ransom blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s just,” Adam groans, frustrated. “He said he wanted to stop before things got _messy_ and I thought things were already messy and fuck, Rans. The way he _looked_ at me, yesterday morning and the night before. I was so _sure_.”

Ransom leans into him a little harder; he’s paying attention. Adam glances at his laptop and Ransom’s Google doc is a jumble of nonsense, like he’s just pressing random keys. They have the same nervous habit, really.

“I was pretty sure too, bro,” Ransom says. “I saw the way he looked at you too. Thought you were the only one who didn’t notice.”

Adam thumps his head against the wall. “Yeah, well, maybe he just looks that way at everyone he has sex with and it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Bro,” Ransom says, reproving, and Adam sighs because yeah, that makes no fucking sense. But when has Jack ever made any fucking sense?

Unfortunately, the answer to that is always. Jack Zimmermann isn’t so difficult to understand when you get to know him. And Adam, fuck his life, got to know him, because Jack wanted to be his friend.

Adam wishes he hadn’t, now. He wishes being Jack’s friend was enough.

“Aren’t you going to the library?” he asks Ransom, and that makes him sit up and turn around. His eyes are dark and very, very sharp.

“No,” he says. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

Adam blinks at him. “Like what? I’m fine.”

“You’re really not,” Ransom says. “And I’m fucking sorry that I made you think I’d leave you alone when you’re dealing with this shitshow.”

“Rans,” Adam says, and Ransom shoves at him none-too-gently.

“Shut up and listen this time,” he says. “I’m sorry, Holtzy. I really am. You’re gonna be a fucking _amazing_ coach, and you’re gonna make a fuckton more money than I will. My pretentious STEM fields won’t get me a quarter of a college hockey coach’s salary, and I’m gonna have trouble buying _myself_ a house, let alone my parents, but you’re gonna buy like, three houses.”

Adam ducks his head to hide the way his cheeks are burning. “Please,” he says. “You know one of them will be yours.”

“Fuck that,” Ransom says. “We’ll share, and the people we marry can have the third one. Point is, you’re going to love your job and you’ll make a ton of money and you’ll coach the next Crosby or whatever, and you’ll be fucking _famous_. And I’m gonna be with you every step of the way, you hear me? Every single step.”

“Even when you’re off at med school studying to be a kickass doctor?” Adam hates how needy he sounds, but he can’t help it. Ransom touches his shoulder.

“Even then,” he says.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Adam admits, because he remembers his mom saying _ask_ , and Jack saying _sometimes it’s easier_ , and he always thought he’d be able to just _tell_ with Ransom but how long have they known each other, really? Barely a year. Less.

“You go into coral reef mode, I know to feed you and make you sleep and leave you alone,” he says, and turns back to his laptop. “But then you go into this _study_ _hibernation_ mode, and I don’t know what to do because it doesn’t fucking _end_. I know it’s different for you, okay, the pressure’s bigger and everything feels like a lot more, but you can’t just pop in and out of my life whenever you feel like it.”

Ransom’s quiet for a long time, so Adam turns on the subtitle track and hits play. When the fuck did it get easier talking to _Jack_ than to Ransom?

“You could tell me,” Ransom hedges, and when Adam looks at him his chin juts out, determined like he gets on the ice when he sees the offense skating their way. “Call me out, man. Tell me I’m being a shit friend. I don’t really realize I’m doing it when I’m so caught up in my head, you know how I get. So you think I’m being an asshole, call me out. You’re my best friend, Holster. You get to do that.”

Adam raises an eyebrow at him. “Your anxiety’s not an excuse for you to be an asshole?” he says, and Ransom laughs.

“Yeah, bro,” he agrees, leaning into Adam. Their beds don’t have Jack’s mountain of pillows, but it’s not so bad, sitting next to each other on a thin mattress with their backs against the wooden headboard. “My anxiety’s not an excuse for me to be an asshole. Can’t promise I’ll listen, but I can definitely promise to try harder.”

“Okay,” Adam says, and bumps their shoulders together. They used to fall asleep like this during week one orientation, when they were running on too little sleep and had too much to talk about. “I was using Jack to hide from you.”

Ransom snorts. “I know.”

“He gave me some of that advice,” Adam says, wincing a little. Ransom hums.

“‘S good advice.”

“Yeah,” Adam bites his lip. “Gonna try harder to. Not do that.”

Ransom smiles at him, and Adam missed him a whole fucking lot.

“But I wasn’t using him,” he adds, because whatever they aren’t anymore, Jack was always more than that. Ransom slings an arm around his shoulders.

“I know,” he says again. “You like him.”

“Yeah,” Adam says quietly. “I really do.”

Not that it matters anymore, but it kinda sucks that it’s not a switch he can just flip off.

 

* * *

 

“I can cancel,” Ransom says later that day, but Adam waves him off.

“Go to your group meeting, come back after, and we can bitch about Other Justin,” he says. Other Justin has been a thorn in Ransom’s side since the semester started, but they haven’t had a chance to bitch about him yet. Bitching with Lardo isn’t half as satisfying as a proper bitchfest with Ransom.

“I swear to god, man, if he’s late again. The meeting is literally right downstairs,” Ransom grumbles, pulling on a sweatshirt. Adam rolls his eyes from where he’s slumped on the bed.

“I’ll hear about it when you get back,” he says. “Not like I’m going anywhere.”

Only other place he could go to in this weather would be the Haus, and yeah. Not happening.

“Fine, fine,” Ransom opens the door, and Jack is on the other side, fist poised to knock on Ransom’s chest. Adam stops breathing.

He looks—cold. There’s snow in his eyebrows and he’s bundled up in heavy layers, cheeks and nose red. He’s holding plastic bags from Stop ‘n Shop.

“Jack,” Adam’s mouth says without his permission, and Jack’s eyes find him over Ransom’s shoulder. They get stuck there, staring at each other wordlessly until Ransom clears his throat.

“Hey man,” he says, and moves slightly enough to the side that no one would even notice if he weren’t putting himself bodily between Adam and Jack. Adam appreciates the gesture, he really does, but he wants. Jesus fuck, he wants Jack to come inside, what’s _wrong_ with him? “What’re you doing out in this storm?”

“I uh,” Jack shuffles his feet, the way he does when he gets stuck on a sentence. “The dining hall is closed until further notice, and the stores nearby have shut down already. I wanted to make sure you guys were stocked up for the storm. School might be closed tomorrow again.”

Adam can’t see it, but he’s pretty sure Ransom’s judgmental eyebrow is up by his hairline. “You’re checking up on us?”

“And Lardo,” Jack clarifies.

“And Lardo,” Ransom repeats, and yeah, that’s definitely his I’m-judging-you voice. He doesn’t sound mean, not exactly, but Jack must get the message, because he takes a full step back. Adam has to sit up to still be able to see him.

“Here,” Jack thrusts the bags at Ransom. “I got you some stuff, and if you need anything else just give me a call. The Haus is pretty well stocked, we can spare plenty.”

Ransom takes the bags. “Thanks,” he says. “We appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Jack says, and there’s a short standoff where Ransom’s Canadian politeness won’t allow him to shut the door in Jack’s face and Jack’s won’t let him leave without making sure he’s said a proper goodbye. Then Jack says, “See you, Holster,” and walks away like he doesn’t make Adam want to kiss him just by existing in his space.

Ransom closes the door. Adam stares at it and hopes, just a little, that Jack will come back.

He doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he tells Ransom. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He hurt you,” Ransom says, and sits down in the middle of their floor on the disgusting carpet to start unpacking the bags. Adam climbs out of bed and squats next to him.

“You hurt me, too,” he points out. Ransom presses his lips together.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “He can talk to you again when you’re ready.”

That’s fair, Adam thinks, and reaches over to pull out a can of soup. Whatever else he may be, he’s not ready to talk to Jack again, or face him without a buffer.

“Thanks,” he tells Ransom, and gets an elbow to the kidney in return.

“Anytime,” Ransom says, ignoring Adam’s grunt of pain. “There’s a lot of food in here. I can’t believe he walked across campus in this weather to bring us supplies.”

“Good thing, too,” Adam breaks the plastic packaging on the flashlight and checks it for batteries. “We’re out of ramen. We would’ve starved in two days.”

“Why does he think we need Advil?” Ransom asks, shaking the bottle, and Adam shrugs.

“He brought us maple syrup.”

“Yeah,” Ransom agrees. “But we need maple syrup.”

They really don’t, but Adam’s learned not to die on that particular hill. Ransom gets care packages from his mom that’s all underwear and organic maple syrup, and he once saw Jack eats-his-pancakes-plain Zimmermann slather his toast in maple butter.

Jack brought boxes of ramen and canned fruit and a loaf of bread and peanut butter and pineapple jam, and Adam ignores Ransom’s raised eyebrow because maybe Jack bought Lardo her favorite kind of jam too, what the fuck does he know?

“I can put these away,” Adam says after a while, when Ransom’s started checking the time on his phone. He was going to be early to his meeting and now he’ll be late, so he can’t even chew out Other Justin for never being on time. “You should go.”

Ransom stands and looks over the spread on their floor. “Are you mad at him?” he asks, and Adam shakes his head. Ransom’s lips purse in thought.

“He still looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, you know,” he says, and when the door closes behind him Adam sits there, surrounded by enough food to last them at least a week because Jack traipsed through a fucking blizzard to get it to them. He brought them pineapple jam, and he broke up with Adam.

It makes no sense at all.

Adam stores the food under his desk, and the flashlights and batteries and Advil in Ransom’s desk drawer. Then he lays down diagonally on his too-small bed and grabs his phone.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his mom says in his ear, and it’s the best sound he’s heard in what feels like forever. Adam’s throat closes up. “I was going to call you soon; I heard the storm’s getting worse over there. Will you have classes tomorrow?”

“We didn’t get an email about that yet,” Adam manages, and he thinks he sounds fine, but his mom knows, like she always does. Like Jack always does.

“Adam? What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned. “Are you alright? Are Justin and Jack okay?”

“We’re all fine, I just,” Adam wipes a hand over his cheek and it comes away wet. “I miss you.”

He misses her real voice and the antiseptic smell she carries everywhere and the way her hair frizzes and falls out of its bun after a long shift at the hospital and just. He misses being _home_.

“I miss you too, honey,” his mom tells him, voice very soft. “I love you,” she says, and Adam starts to cry.

 

* * *

 

The storm lasts two days, and the third day is still a snow day since none of the roads have been cleared. There’s almost thirty inches of snow on the ground and they can’t even play shinny when they’d have to shovel the lake for it. Adam doesn’t feel like going to the snow parties and despite all his coaxing Ransom doesn’t go to them alone. He stays with Adam and they lay on Ransom’s bed in their room, drinking wine out of solo cups and substituting peanut butter for cheese. It’s a fairly disgusting combination, but Adam gets super drunk and manages to watch a whole episode of Golden Girls out of spite before the guilt sets in for watching it without Jack.

“I know I’ve seen it before,” he slurs at Ransom as Dorothy snipes at her mother. “But this feels like a betrayal of friendship. I wouldn’t forgive me for doing this to me. Myself.”

“I still don’t know why you like this thing,” Ransom says, head in Adam’s lap. He hates Golden Girls.

“Why are we friends?” Adam demands, appalled. “You blaspheme.”

Ransom ignores him and falls asleep where he is, which means thirty minutes later he’s drooling on Adam’s leg. Adam rolls him off the bed to keep snoring on the floor, because Ransom sleeps with his mouth open when he’s drunk, and Adam loves him but there are limits.

The best part about the snowstorm, even better than no classes, is that it gives him a break from Jack. By the time they have their first practice nearly four days later, Adam can stand to look at him again.

Jack doesn’t look back. In fact, Jack does a fantastic fucking job of pretending Adam doesn’t exist at all.

But that’s okay, because Adam steps onto the ice and he knows exactly where Ransom is. They skate circles around Johnson and when Jack and Hoser come at them Adam steals the puck and passes to Ransom for a shot in the goal without even looking.

“Damn, son,” Shitty whistles in appreciation. Coach Murray claps them both on the back and it feels good, to be good at this again.

It’s the first time Adam realizes he can get over Jack, if he tries hard enough.

 

* * *

 

Jack and Shitty are both gone by the time Adam steps out of the shower. He scrubs at his hair and reaches into his locker for a fresh pair of pants, and Patsy snaps a towel at his bare ass.

“Goddammit,” says Adam, looking over his shoulder. “The fuck, bro?”

“Congrats, man!” Patsy muffles into the shirt he’s pulling over his head. “Heard you pulled at the house crawl the other day.”

“Oh, right,” Batsy grins at him. “Tennis team captain, right? I can’t believe she went for you, bro. I thought Collins and Jack were like, exclusive or something.”

“Collins?” Adam asks, sharing a confused look with Ransom. “Wait, _Jack?_ ”

“Sure,” Patsy says. “You should’ve seen him, bro. Looked like he swallowed a lemon when you went into the girl’s room.”

“Surprised he didn’t rip you a new one today,” Leggs calls from the other side of the room, and it’s only then that Adam realizes the seniors are listening in. They stay out of frog gossip for the most part, so that’s a surprise. “If you’d gone for my girl like that I would’ve punched your face in. But good on you for getting some tail.”

It’s a testament to how much time he’s spent with Shitty that Adam’s first reaction is to open his mouth to tell him that that kind of language is why he doesn’t _have_ a girl. Thank fuck Ransom has the sense to step in before Adam can put his foot in his mouth.

“The house crawl on Sunday, you mean?” he asks Patsy, then turns to Adam, brows furrowed. “Did you hook up with Camilla Collins?”

Oh, that’s where Adam knows the name from. Camilla Collins, tennis team captain, Jack’s ex from his freshman year and one of his few non-hockey friends.

And that’s also why the seniors are interested. Jack Zimmermann gossip is always fun, especially when at least half of them dislike him so much. Adam bites the inside of his cheek and swallows his anger. Jack is their _Captain_.

“Nah, bro,” he says as casually as he can manage. “Didn’t hook up with anyone on Sunday.”

“Aw, hell, seriously?” Patsy demands. “You went into her room and you’re seriously telling me you didn’t close?”

“Her name’s Donna, not Camilla,” Adam corrects him, annoyed. “And we didn’t hook up, man, no big deal.”

Batsy zips up his duffel and rolls back his shoulders. “Yo, whatever you did, Jack wasn’t happy about it. You see him go all Ice Prince on you out there? Sort that shit out, man. We don’t need some chick putting a hole in our teamwork.”

“There’s no chick!” Adam snaps, slamming his locker shut. Everyone in the room tenses, because Adam’s the biggest person in there and they’re all hockey bros. “Maybe you could fucking _ask_ us before making assumptions! How’s that for a novel idea? Or, I don’t know, it’s none of your fucking business so maybe butt the fuck out!”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Hoser demands, and Ransom steps between them.

“He’s just tired,” Ransom says firmly, and when Adam opens his mouth again he steps on his foot. “He’s _tired_ ,” he repeats warningly, and shoves Adam out the door.

“You can’t just do that,” he tells Adam when they’re far enough away from Faber and Adam’s been fuming silently for ten minutes.

“Do what?” Adam fires back. “Defend my friend? Our _captain?_ ”

“Even Shitty keeps his mouth shut when they start in on Jack,” Ransom says. “You gotta pick your battles, man. Couple more months and they’ll all graduate. Jack would _not_ want you to get into a fight over him with your own team.”

Adam blows out a frustrated breath, because it’s fucking true. This happens often enough that Jack has pulled both of them aside before, and Lardo too. Adam doesn’t know the whole story of what went down between Jack and the seniors Jack’s freshman year, but he knows the vote that made Jack captain wasn’t exactly unanimous.

Ransom gives him a gentle shove when he doesn’t say anything. “You can’t do stupid shit like that just ‘cause you’ve got feelings for him.”

“It’s not because I have _feelings_ for him,” Adam shoves him back. “It’s not fair, okay, everyone’s always talking behind his back. I hate just standing there and doing _nothing_.”

He knows, now, how that affects a person. How that affects _Jack_. Ransom glances at him out of the corner of his eyes and keeps his mouth shut. Jack is his friend too.

“I didn’t know he was there,” Adam says eventually. He feels like he’s missing part of the puzzle. “He told me he wasn’t at the crawl.”

“Probably wasn’t,” Ransom shrugs. “Probably was just hanging out with Camilla.”

Adam bites his lip. “Do you,” he starts, and he knows he sounds childish but he feels like a child, asking for something he’s not sure he should have. “Do you think they were serious? That he was upset that I. Do you think he cared?”

Ransom swings his duffel where it’s hanging by his waist and bumps it into Adam’s hip. He’s quiet for long enough that Adam’s regretting asking at all.

“I don’t know, Holster,” he says finally. “Why does it matter?”

“I thought it was because he realized I had feelings for him,” Adam says slowly, and something in his brain just. Clicks.

“Fuck, Rans,” he breathes. “I left. That morning. I just. He was looking at me like I was so fucking _important_ and I got. Scared. So I left. I left him. What if it’s because he thought I _didn’t?_ ”

“That’s a lot of ‘what if’s, buddy,” Ransom tells him neutrally, and he’s right, Adam knows he is, but the possibility of it is stuck in his chest and all he can think is, _what if Jack got scared too?_

“I should ask him.” Adam says, kicking at a pile of slush on the ground. “Shouldn’t I ask him? We’re just guessing here, and I don’t want to guess about him anymore. He doesn’t need that from me.”

The corner of Ransom’s mouth turns up. “You’re going to talk to him? Like a mature adult?”

Adam thinks it over. He can get over Jack. He can find someone else. Someone easier. All he really has is a maybe, but. He didn’t know a maybe could feel like this. Like it may have been worth crying his eyes out and spending three days doing his level best to forget about Jack Zimmermann if this one maybe can work out.

“I’m going to stop running,” Adam says, and for all that hope is a four-letter word, it doesn’t seem quite so scary anymore.

 

* * *

 

Except, of course, Jack fucking Zimmermann can’t make anything easy for him.

It doesn’t take long for Adam to realize Jack has enlisted Shitty. Wherever Jack goes, Shitty goes with him. He waits for Jack after practice and shadows him to the Haus and Jack waits for him at breakfast even though Shitty eats slower than a fucking sloth. They walk to class together and when they’re in his room Shitty sprawls naked over Jack’s bed and Jack doesn’t say a word. Adam shows up to the Haus early enough in the morning that Shitty should still be asleep, but nope, he’s half-awake in zombie mode in running gear, ready to tail Jack as far as he can. Adam wouldn’t be surprised if something like this is in that friendship contract Shitty keeps talking about.

So far, Adam’s tried to ask to speak to Jack alone four times, and each time Shitty has intervened before he got halfway through the sentence. He’s dedicated, Adam’s gotta give him that.

Adam’s plan of action had one step: talk to Jack.

Now there are two steps.

“Hey Shits,” he says, dumping his laptop in front of Shitty’s stack of books in the library. Jack is attending some boring history seminar that Shitty probably walked him to but didn’t actually want to sit in on, so this is the best chance Adam’s gonna get.

Shitty’s moustache twitches, but he doesn’t look up. “Do you think Lion King II is a feminist retelling when Kiara’s entire identity is centered on Simba’s pride?”

Adam sits. “I don’t think the second Lion King movie is a retelling, so maybe reword the question. I want to talk to Jack.”

Shitty makes a note in the margin of his book. “Jack isn’t here.”

Adam tilts his chair back on two legs and watches him scribble in his notebook. “You know what I mean, Shitty. I just need five minutes alone with him. Please.”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?” Shitty raises an eyebrow at him, and Adam rolls his eyes. Shitty is the easiest person in the world to talk to, unless Jack is involved.

“I don’t know,” Adam says. “Maybe let me actually ask him a question? Or tell him I want to? Or just let him out of your sight for two minutes?”

Shitty puts down his pen. “Last time you fought,” he says. “You said something to Jack. I don’t know what it was; he won’t tell me. But coincidentally, right after that fight, he nearly had a panic attack and he didn’t call me. Would you happen to know why?”

Adam chews on his lip, cheeks hot with shame. Shitty looks at him steadily and waits for an answer.

“I may have implied that he relies on you too much,” Adam confesses, dropping his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shitty bites the cap off his highlighter to mark off a paragraph. “Yeah, well, you did,” he says, muffled. There’s nothing about him to indicate he’s angry, but Adam recognizes his voice from the night Shitty found him in Jack’s bed and Adam refused to leave.

“You did, and he decided I shouldn’t have to _deal with his_ _issues_ ,” Shitty continues, and Adam swallows hard. Those words are going to haunt him for a very long time. “So you might have some understanding of why now, when he’s finally gotten it through his head again that it’s _okay_ to ask for help when he needs it, I’m going to do my absolute fucking best to give him exactly what he asked for.”

Adam hunches in on himself. “Does he not want to talk to me?” he asks, voice very small.

Shitty’s highlighter pauses. “I don’t know,” he says, sour like he doesn’t want to admit it. Adam breathes.

“I don’t need much,” he says, leaning forward to catch Shitty’s eyes. “Just give me a way around you. Go to the fucking bathroom, man. You’ve got him locked up like Fort fucking Knox.”

“Don’t let Jack hear you say that,” Shitty spits out the highlighter cap. “Look, brah, I think you guys should talk. Figure your shit out. Hell, I think you’re _good_ for him. But it doesn’t matter what I think, and I won’t help you get to Jack.”

Adam slams his hands down on the table, frustrated. “Why the fuck not?” he demands, and Shitty finally looks up.

“Jack is my best friend,” he says, eyes very serious. “And that means I’m always on his side.”

 

* * *

 

Ransom raises both eyebrows when Adam finds him in the far corner of the library, sprawled over a set of couches and watching YouTube lab tutorials.

“Well?” he asks. Adam shakes his head. “Shit, really? That sucks.”

“Fuck him,” Adam growls. “I’m not fucking done.” He sits his ass down across from _his_ best friend and tosses his backpack onto a free cushion.

“Pull up PowerPoint,” he says, and Ransom grins. “We need a Plan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [Owllover625](http://owllover625.tumblr.com/) made an amazing playlist for this fic (thank you so much). You can listen to it [here](http://8tracks.com/ryro-l/easy-like-sunday-morning)!


	12. Chapter 12

 

Jack is a creature of habit, but Shitty isn’t, so Adam’s timing is a little off. He gets to the Haus while Shitty’s taking first shower after their morning run and Jack is dozing on the green couch, head thrown back and earphones in. He’s flushed and sweaty and Adam kinda wants to lick him, but that’s not why he’s here.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Adam types back, _phase 1 is a go_ , and sets it to silent. Ransom’s reply will have to wait.

“Holster?” Jack asks, and Adam jumps. Jack’s eyes are open and he’s pulling the earphones out, confused because Adam’s just standing there staring at him like a creep. “Hey. Something up?”

It’s the first time Jack has really looked at him in a few days. Adam had forgotten how heady it can be, being the center of his attention.

“No,” he blurts, panicking a little. “Just. Everyone’s still asleep, right?”

Jack blinks at him, unsure. “Uh, yes? It’s Saturday morning. Shitty’s up.”

“Good,” Adam says, like an idiot. “Shitty is. Important.”

“Okay,” Jack says slowly. “Do you… need anything? From Shitty?”

This isn’t going like he planned, at all. Adam shakes himself out of it and holds up the grocery bag from Stop ‘n Shop he got last night. “Nah, I’m just gonna make breakfast. Dining hall’s not open yet. You should join me. You and Shitty.”

“For breakfast,” Jack clarifies, still looking at him like he’s not sure if Adam’s drunk. Adam wishes he had that excuse. He used to be smoother than this.

“Yeah,” he says, and walks backwards into the kitchen, holding Jack’s eyes. “Breakfast. Both of you. I make great eggs.”

Jack doesn’t reply, so Adam turns around and opens the fridge. Thank god they have milk, because Adam only thought to buy eggs and sriracha. He doesn’t worry too much about Jack and Shitty not showing up. Jack at least has to come back after he’s done showering, because all his protein powder is in here.

He sets about finding a large bowl, whisking together all twelve eggs and three cups of milk with a generous helping of sriracha, because Shitty doesn’t eat as much as the rest of them but Adam’s seen Jack swallow a boiled egg whole. He’s shaking salt and pepper into the bowl and heating up oil on the pan when Shitty strolls in, naked and a little wet still, long hair dripping water. Adam looks him over, considering.

“I’m starting to see why girls are into you,” he says, pouring half the eggs into the pan so it doesn’t overflow.

Shitty flips his wet hair out of his eyes and makes a face. “I couldn’t blow dry because we’re supposed to join you for breakfast. Jack thought it would be impolite to make you wait.”

“He didn’t mention it might be impolite to not wear pants?” Adam asks absently, and gives the eggs a stir. “Would you mind putting on the toast?”

Shitty doesn’t move. “What are you doing?” he asks, eyebrows scrunched together. Adam has to go around him to find bread. He should have brought bread. He has no idea where it is.

“I’m making breakfast. For all of us. Is there bread in here?” Adam asks, returning to his pan to stir again.

Shitty gives up and ducks under the cabinets to pull out a loaf of whole wheat, and pops three into the toaster oven at once. “So what, you’re just gonna talk to him while I’m here? Might get a little uncomfortable, don’t you think?”

Adam raises a judgmental eyebrow at him, and hopes it’s half as good as Ransom’s. “You woke up at five AM on a Saturday to go running with Jack on the off-chance that I’d decide to wake up at five AM on a Saturday to catch him alone. I figure you’re cool with a little uncomfortable.”

“Touché,” Shitty admits. The toaster dings like they’re in a fucking romcom or some shit, and he pops in three more slices of bread and sets the timer. “This is how you know you’re in deep, brah. It’s six fucking AM on a Saturday and we’re both awake.”

Adam plates the eggs and pours in the rest of the mixture. “I know I’m in deep, bro,” he says. “I just gotta make sure he knows it too.”

Shitty gives him a considering look and opens his mouth, then closes it when he hears Jack’s footsteps creaking down the stairs. Adam plates up the rest of the eggs and Shitty uses a fork to drag the toast out of the oven, and when Jack walks into the kitchen he throws a pair of boxers at Shitty.

“Brah, Holster’s seen my dick a million times,” Shitty says, but he puts on the underwear.

“No one wants to see it while we’re eating,” Jack tells him, turning to the overflowing sink to wash out three forks and knives. “Thank you, Holster. You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

Adam shrugs, passing Shitty a plate. “Was no trouble.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why are these eggs red?” Shitty pokes at his plate when Jack hands him a fork. Adam accepts his own fork, and follows them to the den so they can sit on the couch and Jack can turn on ESPN.

“Sriracha,” Adam tells him, taking a seat on the floor at Jack’s feet before Shitty can beat him to the other side of the couch. Shitty doesn’t say anything, but his silence speaks volumes.

Jack touches his shoulder, just for a second but Adam takes the second to lean into his hand. Jack pauses and looks down at him.

“Thanks for breakfast. It’s very good,” he says, awkward and sweet. There’s a knot in Adam’s chest that grows bigger and bigger the longer Jack looks at him. Makes it hard to breathe.

“You’re welcome,” he replies carefully, and watches the tips of Jack’s ears go pink. On the other end of the couch, Shitty snorts loudly.

They eat in relative silence until Adam has to get up for water. When he comes back, Jack and Shitty are whispering hotly into the space between them, tilted so close together for a quick second Adam thinks they’re kissing. Then Shitty gives Jack a big-ass hairy eyeball and stands, collecting the empty plates.

“I’m gonna go back to sleep,” he announces to the room at large, clearly put out. Jack punches him in the thigh. “Fine, I’m not gonna sleep. I’ll do homework. Wake me when you’re done.”

Jack waits for the sound of Shitty’s door closing upstairs before turning to Adam. “You could have texted me,” he says as Adam sprawls over the warm empty space Shitty left behind.

“I wanted to make breakfast,” Adam says, resolute. He hadn’t really expected Shitty to give up so easily. His plan is a little off-kilter.

Jack hums, and reaches out to squeeze Adam’s ankle. “Do you want to come upstairs?”

Adam thinks about it. It’s not even seven in the morning, and Jack is asking him upstairs when everyone else will be asleep for at least another two hours. He almost says yes.

“I wanna watch ESPN with you,” he says, even though they’re just showing football highlights and Adam saw the match last night. Jack purses his lips.

“Holster, listen, I—” he starts, and Adam wraps an arm around him and pulls him down so Jack ends up half in his lap, head tilted uncomfortably onto his shoulder. He doesn’t fight, but his muscles go taught in Adam’s arms.

Adam loosens his grip so Jack can get out if he wants. “I just want to watch TV with you,” he says again, and after a moment Jack repositions himself so he’s half-draped over Adam. He smells like clean skin, and when Adam pets his hair his eyes grow heavy. It’s intimate and comfortable, and Jack falls asleep like this with Shitty at least a couple times a week, so even if the seniors wake up earlier than expected they won’t bat an eye.

“I don’t understand,” Jack says softly after a while. He’s still holding himself tightly, like he thinks Adam might push him off the couch. Adam tucks his free arm under his head.

“Did you like breakfast?” he asks. Jack pushes himself up on one elbow so he can look down at Adam.

“Yes,” he says. Adam rubs the pad of his thumb into the crease between Jack’s eyebrows until it smooths out.

“I’ll make omelettes next time,” Adam says. “I can’t cook for shit but eggs I’m good at.”

Jack looks like he wants to protest the ‘next time’, but then he lays back down.

“Do you put sriracha in everything?” he asks.

Adam laughs, feeling Jack’s smile against the crook of his neck. “Yeah, I do.”

“We’re going to talk,” Jack tells him, finally relaxing enough that he fits neatly into the space between the back of the couch and Adam’s side. Adam keeps an arm around him and closes his eyes.

“Sure,” he agrees. “But not now.”

 

* * *

 

**03/09/2013**

Unknown  
8:15 AM: _Terrafolia order #011389347865. Delivered 03/09/2013 8:00am, MONTREAL CANADA. Signature upon delivery._

 

* * *

 

Adam walks back to the dorm in a bit of a daze. He makes it as far as Ransom’s bed before giving up and collapsing on top of the covers, and Ransom grunts in surprise.

“The fuck, asshole, get off me,” he mumbles sleepily and rolls once to dump Adam on the floor, so Adam lies on their gross carpet and stares at the ceiling. It takes a few seconds before Ransom rouses himself enough to peer over the side of the bed.

“How’d it go?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes. Adam grins up at him. “That good, huh?”

“He smells nice,” Adam says, and Ransom starts laughing. “Shut up; he does. And Shitty left and he let me cuddle him. He’s so _pretty_ , Rans.”

Ransom just laughs harder. “No one on this fucking team smells nice, man. Why’d you leave?”

“Jack fell asleep,” Adam tells him. “I had to leave or I’d just watch him sleep like a creeper, and I fulfilled my creeper quota for the day already. Ugh, I have butterflies.”

“Aw, Holtzy’s got a crush,” Ransom reaches down to ruffle his hair, and Adam swats at his hand before climbing up to shove him over to make space.

“I hope this works, bro,” he says, taking over half of Ransom’s pillow. “I would’ve been fine if I’d let it go yesterday. Dunno know what I’ll do if it doesn’t work out now.”

Cry and eat a tub of ice cream, probably. He can still feel Jack’s smile stretched against his throat. Adam should have known how deep he was the moment he realized how much he loved making Jack smile.

Ransom pulls the covers up over both of them and snuggles close, curled towards Adam like a comma. He’s taller than Jack, but not quite broad enough to wrap around Adam the way Jack does. That’s okay; Adam likes that he can see the way his eyes go soft.

“You’ll be okay,” Ransom breathes into the space between them. “We’ll handle it together.”

Adam bites the inside of his cheek. “What if I’m wrong?”

What if he doesn’t, he thinks. What if he wants to go back to having sex but doesn’t want anything more? What if Adam gives it his all and Jack throws it back in his face? How does he come back from that?

“Then you’re wrong, and we’ll handle that, too,” Ransom says, frank. “Whatever happens, you’ll still be friends. That will have to be enough. His friendship isn’t a consolation prize, no matter how you feel about him.”

Adam opens his mouth to protest, but—Ransom’s right. Again. Jack’s a good friend. He is. He deserves better than Adam being butthurt cause he can’t return Adam’s feelings; that won’t be his fault. And Adam will be okay. He’ll have to be okay.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he mumbles just to be petulant, and Ransom rolls his eyes.

“I am on your side, bro, always,” he reaches out to grip the back of Adam’s neck, tilting their foreheads together. The knot in Adam’s chest eases a little. “That means telling you some of the hard truths.”

Adam takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Whatever happens, he’ll have Ransom at the end. Knowing that—helps. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll handle it.”

“Atta boy,” Ransom pats his cheek. “You can do this.”

“I can do this,” Adam nods, then yawns right in Ransom’s face. Ransom retaliates by blowing gross morning breath at him, and turns out Adam’s not fond of that shit when it’s not accompanied by Jack’s morning kisses. He pushes Ransom’s face into the pillow.

“Now you just gotta convince Lardo,” Ransom says, muffled, not even bothering to fight. Adam lets him go.

“And if she says no, we go to plan B.”

Ransom puts his hand over Adam’s face and stifles a yawn. “Go to sleep, Holtzy, she won’t be up till like, twelve. Not all of us are morning freaks like you and Jack. Should’ve known you were made for each other.”

Adam sighs and closes his eyes, then opens them to pinch Ransom’s cheek. Ransom’s nose twitches in annoyance; he’s already drifting off. “I can’t, I’m too excited to sleep.”

“Pretend, or I’ll punch those butterflies right out of your guts,” Ransom threatens, so Adam sighs louder, wraps an arm around him, and tries to fall asleep. He doesn’t quite manage it, but there’s something about knowing he’s on the right track that makes him content to hold still for a while, warm and happy and just a little less scared.

 

* * *

 

**03/09/2013**

Adam  
8:45 AM: _have a good nap_ ＼(^o^)／

Jack  
10:02 AM: _Is that a bird?_

Adam  
10:05 AM: _it’s a hug_

Jack  
10:05 AM: _Oh_

 

* * *

 

Lardo hasn’t said anything for at least ten minutes and Adam’s starting to get antsy, plus it’s cold in here and he’d like to put his shirt back on. He gets as far as taking a deep breath before Lardo glares him into exhaling before he can speak, and then it’s another twenty minutes of Adam fidgeting on the tiny stool that’s too small for his hockey butt.

“Just tell me yes or no and I’ll shut up,” Adam finally says, and she doesn’t even spare him a glance. He should have taken Shitty’s advice when he told them never to give her the upper hand.

If she says no, plan B is to ask Coach Murray. Adam doesn’t want to ask Coach Murray, because then he’ll have to lie and Adam’s only a slightly better liar than Jack. He’ll have to ask Ransom to lie for him.

Adam scoots his ass back a little further on the stool and nearly topples over the edge. Lardo doesn’t quite laugh at him, but she does finally put down her pencil. She turns the sketchpad towards him.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Adam asks hesitantly. It looks. Well. Not like him.

“It’s my assignment for next class,” Lardo says. “Surrealism.”

Adam looks back at the sketch. “It definitely looks surreal.”

“Yeah,” Lardo says. “Like how you’re trying to get me to give you my keys to Faber without even telling me why.”

Fuck. Okay. Adam probably should have gone about that request a bit differently. He watches her nonchalantly raised eyebrow and thinks he understands why she gets along with Jack so well.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you out,” he says, sincere. Lardo rears back, surprised, and Adam feels a little proud of himself for getting that right. “If it helps, Shitty doesn’t know about this at all.”

“I know,” Lardo says, and Adam frowns.

“Did Shitty call in the big guns?” he asks. Lardo shakes her head.

“Ransom did,” she says. “He wanted a second opinion.”

Adam hops off the stool and takes a more comfortable seat on her bench. One of these days he’s probably going to break it, judging by the ominous creaking. Lardo watches him impassively, letting him adjust to the idea that Ransom’s been talking to her about. This.

“What did you say?” he asks after a moment.

“Plenty,” she replies, and he realizes that’s all he’s going to get out of her. It stings a little that he’s no longer Ransom’s only confidant, but he’s talked to Jack about Ransom enough times before to know this is only fair.

Lardo quirks a small half-smile at him when he doesn’t say anything. “Sure hope you know what you’re doing though, bro. I like my boys happy.”

“Yeah, well,” Adam says, and manages to smile back. “I’m trying. I need those keys, Lards.”

Lardo hops out of her seat to go rummage in the backpack hanging on a hook in the corner. She pulls out a set of keys with her school ID attached and walks back to him, but when Adam holds out his hand for them she steps into the space between his legs, face hard.

“Don’t lose them,” she orders. “And don’t get caught.”

“I won’t,” Adam assures her, but she holds his gaze.

“You better be careful,” she says, chin straight and arms crossed, and Adam feels like he walked into something he wasn’t quite prepared for.

“Don’t worry, Lards, we’ve done this before,” he says, and Lardo taps her foot impatiently.

“That’s not what I meant,” she tells him. Adam can’t read her the way Jack does so he has no idea what she’s trying to say, but she’s worried about something and all he wants to do is reassure her. He plucks the keys from her hand and works off the ID.

“I’ll be careful,” he says, catching her around the shoulders to pull her into a hug even though she’s stiff as a board in his arms. She feels a little like Jack that morning, like a wild thing whose trust he needs to gain.

“I’ll be careful,” he repeats, and thinks that maybe she’s trying to protect him from more than just the university police.

Lardo doesn’t quite relax in his arms, but she does pat him on the back once, twice, before pulling away, and gives him a small smile in return. Something like understanding stretches between them, thin and tentative. She’s not an easy person to love, but Adam’s starting to get that all he needs to do with these difficult people is try a little harder. They’re worth it.

 

* * *

 

**03/09/2013**

Justin  
11:30 AM: _i got shitty_

Adam  
11:30 AM: _phase 2 is a go_

 

* * *

 

**03/09/2013**

Adam  
11:33 AM: _you awake?_

Jack  
11:45 AM: _Is something wrong?_

Adam  
11:45 AM: _nah, just need a favor_

Jack  
11:46 AM: _What is it?_

Adam  
11:46 AM: _meet me at faber in 15?_

Jack  
11:46 AM: _Why?_

Adam  
11:46 AM: _i’ll explain when you get here. promise._

 

* * *

 

“We can’t just break into Faber!” Jack whispers loudly as Adam tries another key on the stupid ring. He should have asked Lardo which one was the key to the back entrance, but he was too busy hugging out his confusion so now he has to stand here looking increasingly suspicious because Jack has no chill whatsoever.

“Why not?” Adam asks just as one of the keys finally clicks and twists all the way around. He pushes the door open, and Jack inside.

“Why didn’t you just ask Coach Murray?” Jack demands even as Adam pulls out his phone to power up his flashlight. They can’t turn on every light as they go; he just needs a couple in the right places. “What are you even doing?”

Adam leads them into the locker rooms and grins when Jack follows despite all his complaints. “Come on, Jack, have you really experienced college unless you’ve illegally broken into at least one school building?”

He can’t see Jack’s face very well in the dark, especially through his glasses, but Jack shoves his shoulder so Adam thinks he gets the point. “How many school buildings have you broken into so far?”

“Counting this?” Adam shrugs. “Six.”

“Holster!” Jack hisses, and Adam swallows a quip about him needing to get laid. Not really the time. He flips on the lights in the locker room instead and spreads his hands.

“Ta-da!” he says. Jack looks around, then crosses his arms.

“You said you needed a favor,” he says. “What are we doing here?”

Adam digs into his locker to find his spare skates. It’s a little weird taking them out without the rest of his gear, but they won’t need anything else.

“Skating.” He sits on a bench to tug off his jacket and boots. “You should grab yours, too.”

Jack squats in front of him and touches his fingers where they’re nervously knotting the laces over and over. “Adam,” he says, and the sound of his name in Jack’s mouth automatically pulls his head up.

“What am I doing here?” Jack asks. His eyes are intense and clear, and there it is again, a giant fucking knot in Adam’s chest made of what ifs and fear. His hand rises to touch Jack’s cheek and he just. Can’t. He’s not brave enough.

“Adam,” Jack says again, and Adam swallows down the heart in his throat.

“Come skate with me?” he asks, quiet and strangely vulnerable.

Jack’s eyes don’t waver from his even when Adam twines their fingers together, suddenly so sure that if he lets go Jack will leave. He’ll leave and Adam will have to find a way to get over him and he _doesn’t want to_ , is the thing.

He’s been a little in love with Jack Zimmermann for years.

“Okay,” Jack says, equally quiet. He pulls his hand away and stands, and this is what happens when you don’t make sure you’re the one who gets to walk away, Adam thinks numbly. He’s so caught up in knowing he was _wrong_ that he almost doesn’t register the locker click open.

Jack isn’t leaving.

Jack is slinging his skates over his shoulder, head tilted at Adam like he didn’t almost give him a heart attack. “Let’s go,” he says in his Captain voice, and Adam’s brain might not have caught up yet but his body scrambles up on autopilot, following Jack out the door.

Faber seems bigger somehow. Adam’s been here with the team and he’s been here with Ransom and Lardo, but he’s never been here almost alone at night. They click on the lights above the rink and the ice looks white and bright and endless. Adam inhales sharply.

“Things always look different at night,” Jack says, bumping their shoulders together.

Jack glides onto the ice first; he laces up and steps into the rink and skates straight to the other end, arms behind his back and balance impeccable. He loops a figure eight into zigzags, effortless like he was born there.

“You coming?” he calls to Adam, banking sharp turns that send up sprays of shaved ice.

If Adam had any doubts left about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life they disappear then and there, watching Jack Zimmermann’s shoulders ease down from his ears and his mouth turn up into a smile like he can’t help it as he skates around the rink in aimless circles. Adam’s seen him blissed out after a good blowjob and laughing at a TV show hard enough to snort and locked in a group celly after a big win, but he’s never seen Jack happier than he is like this, just skating on the ice.

“This is what you’re signing up for,” he whispers to himself, and skates out to meet him. Jack grins so bright when he gets close that Adam almost forgets to slip and crash at his feet.

“Ow,” he says belatedly, sliding flat onto his back. “Help me up.”

It’s not suspicious enough to warrant a complaint as Jack pulls him to his feet, but as soon as he lets go Adam lands on his ass again, which, fuck, ice isn’t the most forgiving of surfaces. He’s gonna be so sore tomorrow, and not even in a good way. The things he does because Ransom thought it would be a good idea.

“What the hell, Holster,” Jack says, and Adam groans, this time not entirely fake.

“Why’d you let me go?” he demands, pushing his lopsided glasses up his nose. “I can’t skate.”

“You can’t skate,” Jack parrots slowly, like he’s not sure he heard right.

“I can’t skate,” Adam repeats, and ignores how stupid he sounds. He’s done stupider things for worse reasons. “I brought you here to teach me.”

“You’re on an _NCAA Division I_ _hockey team_ ,” Jack says incredulously. “That’s not even funny. I can’t lose half my D-man duo.”

Adam’s ass is cold, and his jeans are growing damp. It’s not a pleasant feeling. “I want you to teach me how to skate,” he insists anyway. “The way you learned it.”

Jack heaves a long-suffering sigh and crouches next to him, fingers pressed into the ice for balance. “I don’t remember how I learned it,” he tells Adam. “I was too young. I’ve known how to skate for as long as I can remember.”

Of course he has. Adam should have guessed, really.

“Then teach me the way you _taught_ it,” he says, picking up a fistful of ice sheared off by their blades. “You coached a pee-wee team before, right?”

Something about that makes Jack pause and consider him carefully. Adam knows that look. It’s how Jack looks at opposing D-men right before he scores a goal and it’s how he looked at Adam the first time he kissed him. That more than anything boosts Adam’s courage enough to hold his gaze.

“Sure,” Jack says after a while, pushing himself to his feet. He offers Adam a hand up, and when he’s balanced on two skates Jack’s big hands curve around his waist, helping him balance.

“So the first thing you need to learn,” Jack says, their faces so close that he could lick his lips and Adam would taste his tongue. It’s taking everything Adam has to not kiss him. “Is how to fall.”

He kicks Adam’s skates out from under him.

“What the fuck,” Adam shouts from his position back on his ass on the ice, glasses askew so Jack is just a big blur skating circles around him, laughing so hard he has to bend over and clutch at his stomach. “What the fuck, Zimmermann!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack wheezes, coming to a stop as Adam scrambles back up. “But that is the actual first lesson. Remember to dip down, tuck in your elbows, and tense your neck so you don’t crack your head.”

He tries to kick Adam’s skates out again, the fucker. Adam’s more prepared this time, so he just staggers forward a few inches before regaining his balance, and by the time he’s swiveled around to chase Jack down Jack is halfway across the ice.

“I thought you couldn’t skate!” he calls back to Adam, sweet as can be. There’s absolutely no way Adam can catch up to him; Jack is lighter and faster and the ice is completely empty, so when he starts closing the distance he knows it’s only because Jack is letting him.

Jack stops to do a tight spin in the middle of the rink to gauge the distance between him and Adam, which is his mistake because Adam’s not far behind at all. They’re not wearing their protective gear so he holds back on the tackle, but he still has at least twenty pounds over Jack so they go crashing down anyway. Adam’s glasses skitter across the ice somewhere to his left. Thank fuck they both know how to fall already, because otherwise Jack might have gotten a concussion and Adam could have broken an arm and Lardo would have killed them both.

It takes a minute for Adam to realize Jack isn’t shaking; he’s laughing. He drops his head back, spread out under Adam in a way that must make breathing hard, laughing so hard the sound echoes through Faber. Adam bends close to make sure he didn’t actually get a concussion, and Jack cranes his neck up and kisses him.

It’s short and chaste, and Adam barely has a chance to kiss back before Jack pulls away and catches him squinting.

“Oh, your glasses,” he says. “I’ll get them.”

Adam rolls off him so he can slide out, then skate away in a blurry mess to pick up the glasses Adam would never have been able to find on his own. He comes back and sits crosslegged on the ice, pushing the glasses over Adam’s ears. His face swims back into sharp focus.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, and all Adam can do is nod dumbly. Jack leans in, slow like he thinks Adam might change his mind, so Adam meets him halfway.

This time the kiss is wet and deep, and Adam’s glasses dig into Jack’s cheeks but he doesn’t seem to mind, just tilts his head and flicks his tongue against the seam of Adam’s lips until Adam groans into his mouth. This time when he pulls away Adam chases him, wraps his arms around Jack’s back and draws him in until their knees overlap. Jack lifts his legs to curl them around Adam’s waist. It’s hard to think when he’s so close, and harder still to be afraid.

Jack releases Adam’s mouth with a final lick and adjusts his glasses for him. He’s smiling, soft and shy. Adam grins back helplessly.

“Hi,” he says, and it’s stupid but it doesn’t feel stupid right now, with Jack blushing pink in his arms.

“Hi,” Jack returns. “You sent my mom flowers.”

It’s such a non-sequitur Adam needs a minute to realize what he’s talking about. When he does, his cheeks flush with heat and Jack laughs at him, just a little.

“I’m not totally oblivious,” he says, fingers tracing the shell of Adam’s ear. “I mean, this morning was confusing, but then my mom called and told me she’d received a delivery of a nice little bouquet of her favorite roses from a Birkholtz, Adam, and it made a little more sense. You didn’t have to, you know. The trouble you must have gone into, paying a florist in Canada from the States—”

“I wanted to,” Adam blurts before Jack’s babbling can get worse. It’s reassuring to know he’s not the only one who’s nervous. “I didn’t know what kind of flowers you like, or if you even like flowers, but I know what kind of flowers your mom likes, so.”

Jack scrunches up his nose. “Did you just make a your mom joke?”

“No,” Adam denies, before his brain catches up to what’s coming out of his mouth. “Oh my god, _no_ ,” he says, horrified, and Jack bites his lip to stifle his laugh.

He pats the side of Adam’s head. “It’s okay,” he chirps. “I’m used to it. Everyone’s a little into my mom.”

“And your dad,” Adam adds, just to be a dick.

“The fuck, Holster,” Jack says, pinching Adam’s bicep hard enough to bruise. “Please let me forget that you’re into both my parents.”

“You started it,” Adam points out. Jack makes a face.

“Let’s go back to the part where you wanted to give me flowers,” he says, just as Adam adds, “Everyone’s a little into you, too.”

They stare at each other. “Oh,” Jack says. Adam’s ass is going numb and his jeans are definitely wet, and Jack is surprised like he doesn’t know what to do with that, like he genuinely had no idea.

Adam breathes in, breathes out. None of this is new, Jack or the feelings or the urge to fucking backtrack and _run_ but it’s still. Too much, now that he knows. Everything about this is still too much, now that he knows he’s not willing to give any of it up. He’s not brave at all, but he thinks he might miss the giant fucking knot in his chest if it went away.

Adam gathers up what’s left of his courage.

“I’m kind of a lot into you,” he tells Jack, rushed and stumbling but so, so honest. “Like, the sex is great, it’s. Great, but I’m into you in a way that I’d like to tell my mom about at some point, when you’re cool with it, you know? I want to give this a shot. If you don’t, that’s cool, I can deal with that, but I know you, and I still like you, and these are my cards on the table.”

His heart is pounding a little by the time he’s done, but it’s a relief somehow, to get it all out there. It’s out of his control now, and that feels—better than he expected.

Jack looks at him for a long moment. His hands are still curled around Adam’s ears.

“When I,” he starts. “When I told you we should be—friends, it wasn’t because you were uh, hooking up with other people.”

“I wasn’t!” Adam protests immediately, but Jack shakes his head.

“Okay, but even if you had been, it was fine. We had an arrangement and we weren’t exclusive. It wasn’t about that. You were so rattled that morning, and I figured you weren’t ready, but I was, and I didn’t want to push my feelings on you. I didn’t like that. Scaring you.”

It’s not a yes. It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, either. Adam breathes.

“You still scare me,” he admits quietly, and Jack’s smile disappears like it was never there. Adam tightens his arms so he can’t move away. “Listen, Jack. It’s not a bad thing.”

Jack looks at him like he’s crazy. “Of course it’s a bad thing!”

“It’s _not_ ,” Adam stresses, because yeah, this part took a while to get through to him, too. “It just means this thing got bigger than I expected, and I needed some time to process. I thought about it, okay? I thought about it, and I think this can be good. You’re _important_ to me, Jack. I want to do this with you.”

Jack looks so _surprised_. Adam kinda hates that he’s not used to hearing it, that he’s important. He fiddles with the collar of Jack’s Henley, tracing the few hairs peeking out from where the buttons are open at Jack’s throat. Jack shivers in his arms, and Adam knows it’s not from the cold.

“I’d like to tell my parents about you, too,” Jack says, and that. _That_ is a yes.

“Cool,” Adam says, a little too quick, a little too giddy. Fuck, okay. This is a thing that’s happening. They’re sitting on the ice smiling at each other in wet jeans and no gear like complete idiots, and Adam is so happy he could burst.

With the nerves wearing off, though, the wet part starts to become a problem. Adam clamps his teeth together to prevent them from chattering. “So um, not that this isn’t great, but.”

“You’re cold,” Jack guesses, and Adam has to kiss his smile, just once. That’s a thing he can do now, kiss Jack just because he wants to.

“We can’t all be Canadian, eh?” he chirps, and Jack punches his arm and clambers off his lap. Adam clasps his hand to be hoisted up, and Jack doesn’t let go even when he’s on his feet.

They race back to the edge of the rink so Adam can unlace his skates as Jack spends a few more minutes on center ice, spinning in place before spiraling out in wide circles until he reaches Adam at the bench, face flushed with exertion. He neatly swivels around the blade Adam sticks out to trip him with and comes back to shove at his shoulder, then follows Adam out to the locker rooms to store their skates and triple checks to make sure all the lights are out.

“How come you never asked Lardo to bring you here?” Adam asks, once again struggling to find the right key as Jack waits for him to lock up, doing a very poor job of acting inconspicuous.

“I don’t know.” Jack glances over his shoulder, even though there’s literally no one around. “It didn’t really occur to me that I could?”

Adam snorts, “If she gave _me_ keys, she’d give them up to you in a heartbeat. You love being here.”

Jack doesn’t say anything, and Adam doesn’t push it, not now. The snow’s melting into gross slush and it seeps through his boots as they stroll back to the Haus, not hand in hand but close enough together that they keep bumping into each other. Every time it happens it makes Adam smile, even though he can feel his wet jeans freezing in the wind.

He follows Jack up to his room. Johnson's door is wide open across the hall, so Adam peeks in there to make sure it’s empty. Saturday night means most of the Haus is empty; Adam would be surprised if Shitty was in the other room. When he and Ransom move in they’re instituting more Haus-bonding time.

Jack looks over his shoulder when Adam doesn’t follow him inside.

“You’re not coming in?” he asks, trying and failing to hide his disappointment. Adam bites his lip, but he can’t be smooth tonight. His cheeks hurt from grinning so wide.

“I don’t put out on the first date,” he says.

Jack walks back to him. “That was a date?”

“Well, yeah,” Adam shrugs. “I can’t exactly take you out to dinner, and movies are just bad ideas for a first date. First dates are all about spending time together, you know, talking and junk, getting to know each other.”

It’s good to see that Jack is also failing to suppress his smile. Adam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jack smile this much, not even when he’s laughing at Golden Girls. He’s so clearly happy it makes Adam proud.

“I wouldn’t know,” Jack crowds into Adam’s space, and Adam’s hands automatically rise to grasp at his hips. “I’ve never been on a date before.”

Wait.

“What?” Adam blinks at him. “Never?”

Jack flushes. “I—no?” he says, embarrassed. “I didn’t really have a chance in juniors, and in Samwell. Camilla and I just hung out at her place a lot. Kinda like we do now.”

It makes sense. If he was with Kent Parson in the Q they wouldn’t have been able to be public at all, and Jack’s dating history in Samwell is sparse, minus the assholes he doesn’t talk about but who definitely wouldn’t have thought to take him on a date. Adam looks at the pink flooding Jack’s sharp cheekbones and his kind blue eyes and frankly has no idea how the world can be so _dumb_.

“We should do a movie next time,” Adam tells him, dipping his thumb past the waistline of Jack’s jeans. “We’ll pick a terrible movie and sit all the way in the back where it’s dark and no one will be looking and make out like teenagers. It’s a life experience. You can’t just skip out on it.” He waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. “Maybe I’ll give you a handjob too, where no one can see.”

Jack snorts, but something in his face softens. “Getting a little ahead of yourself there, Holtzy,” he says. “But. Do you mind? That we can’t, you know, go out to dinner or whatever?”

For some reason, the closeted part of this deal is the least of Adam’s worries. He gets it. Maybe more than anyone on the team, he’s capable of getting it. He was in juniors, too. Once upon a time he had seriously considered a career in the NHL.

“I’m not out to a ton of people,” he shrugs, because he’s not. “And you know I’m not really into PDA, so it’s not like I’m itching to hold your hand in front of everyone. Ransom knows, and Shitty and Lardo probably will too, right? I’d like to be able to tell my mom if we think it’s still working out in a couple weeks, but that’s all I care about. I like you. I know what that means. I’m cool with it.”

Jack still looks dubious, and Adam knows this isn’t the last time they’ll talk about it, but he nods. “Okay,” he says, and checks over Adam’s shoulder before kissing him again. Adam keeps it dry and chaste. Jack’s eyes flutter open when he pulls back.

“You’re serious about that first date thing, huh?” he says. Adam presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Jack,” he says. “See you tomorrow? We need to finish Golden Girls.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, leaning against the doorframe. It’s never been this hard walking away from him before, but Adam gathers his resolve, presses one more kiss to his mouth, and goes.

He’s not running this time.

 

* * *

 

**03/10/2013**

Justin  
1:55 AM: _how’d it go?_

Adam  
2:01 AM: _good_

Adam  
2:01 AM: _v good_

Justin  
2:02 AM: _OMG_

Adam  
2:02 AM: _i know_

Justin  
2:02 AM: _adam? i’m very proud of you._

Justin  
2:03 AM: (づ￣ ³￣)づ

Adam  
2:03 AM: ლ(´ ❥ `ლ)

Adam  
2:03 AM: _thank you_

 

* * *

 

**03/10/2013**

Jack  
2:36 AM: ＼(^o^)／

Adam  
2:37 AM: _r u chirping me_

Jack  
2:37 AM: _You said it was a hug._

Adam  
2:37 AM: _oooh_

Adam  
2:37 AM: <3

Jack  
2:37 AM: _I know that one._

Adam  
2:37 AM: <3 <3 <3 _goodnight jack_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm going to miss writing this (even though I'm thrilled to have completed my first long fic), but most of all I'll miss waking up to comments and kudos from all of you. You guys were the best part of this journey; thank you for making it so special.
> 
> [Owllover625](http://owllover625.tumblr.com/) also added to the [playlist](http://8tracks.com/ryro-l/easy-like-sunday-morning) for this fic, so you could give it a listen!
> 
> I'm working on new installments for both my omgcp series: [easy like sunday morning](http://archiveofourown.org/series/522583) and [use your hands and my spare time](http://archiveofourown.org/series/496297); it's just going to take a little while since I have an eye problem that makes it hard to write. But yes, there's definitely more coming, so I hope you'll keep reading.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love, and you can also [reblog on tumblr!](http://foxfireflamequeen.tumblr.com/post/148999443243/weve-got-one-thing-in-common-its-this-tongue-of)


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